


HONEY

by goldenmp3



Category: Greta Van Fleet (Band)
Genre: 1970s, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Multi, References to Drugs, Slow Burn-ish, almost famous-esque, and later appearances :), appearance by john denver :), references to underage groupies but none in story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28442727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenmp3/pseuds/goldenmp3
Summary: Hanna Hart got the gig of a lifetime - in a summer break between college semesters, she was heading on the road as the tour photographer for Greta Van Fleet on the first leg of their March of the Peaceful Army, 1973 Tour. She packed her bags and camera and hit the road with them, standing below the stage and in the crowd every night, but even then, she was still able to catch the eye of the lead singer.
Relationships: Josh Kiszka/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. MAN OH MAN, YOU'RE MY BEST FRIEND

“Can I get three black coffees?” She asked under the clouds of tobacco that filtered through the air, under the sound of a musician across the room tuning his guitar on the small stage. Behind the counter, the employee nodded while ringing up the total, and she shoved a few dollars across the counter before receiving the three porcelain mugs.

Hanna reached down, picking up the tray with three mugs situated on top, and she carried it across the coffee house to a small table in the corner of the room. Away from the chatter and music, under low-wattage bulbs near the windows, she sat the tray down on the table before lowering into a chair next to her friend. 

Jack scooted his chair over, allowing her some room as she passed the mugs around, sitting them perfectly between open textbooks and journals and empty mugs from the past few hours. “Here’s yours, yours, and mine,” 

“Thank you,” Arabella said, lifting her head and taking the mug between her fingers. She looked down at her notebook, at the words scribbled across the white pages, and sighed. “I missed what Dr. Craig said… who were the Post reporters that uncovered Watergate last year?” 

Without even looking up from his textbook, Jack answered from across the table, “Woodward and Bernstein,” 

Hanna took a sip of her coffee and sat it back on the table to return to her studying. The three had found comfort in the table of the coffee house for the last few hours - scattering out their textbooks, notebooks, and pens in preparation to study for their exam. It was the last week of their university semester, and while eager to get out for the summer, they had to get through one last exam first. 

Just as she turned to her textbook, Jack took a deep breath and slammed his shut. “There is no point in reading the outline for the last chapters. Nothing that she wants for the final is in there.” And Hanna closed her textbook, scooting it away from her on the table before turning to him.

“So just study the class notes from the last month?” 

“Probably our best bet.” He said while stretching out his arms, a yawn tempting his lips. They had been sitting for too long in one spot, it was causing them and their bodies to ache and tense up. “So,” he reached out for his coffee mug, “you working today?” He asked, bringing it to his lips, the steam fogging his wire-framed glasses.

Raising her left arm, Hanna glanced at her watch - the hands showed her the time, 11:31. “Yeah, I have to be in in an hour,” she said.

Arabella gave up on the notes, picking up her coffee and joining the conversation. “Are you finishing up that new article? You spent all night on it.” 

“I think I was up until two or three typing. Anyways, I’m finishing it today and sending the photos into the editor.” Her doe eyes rolled back, “I’m over it,” 

The bell above the coffee house door dinged every few minutes as more students and town residents shuffled in and out before the heavy lunch hour. Across the room, on the small lifted stage, a man began to play guitar, humming just above the level of chatter among those at the tables. Some had come to see him specifically, others came for a quick caffeine pick-me-up, or a box of popcorn on the house. 

Jumping back into their studying habits, the three quickly ran through their notes together, giving each other pieces of information they didn’t have, scratching out what wasn’t important. Finishing her cup of coffee, Hanna looked at her watch again and huffed.

“Okay, I gotta head out,” she grabbed her bag off the wooden floor, stuffing her textbook and notebook and pens inside. She made sure she had everything before standing and grabbing her coat from the back of her chair, sliding it on over her arms and shoulders. 

Pulling the pencil from between her teeth, Arabella looked up at her friend, “will you be back for dinner tonight?” 

“Ooh, what are you fixing for dinner?” Jack asked.

“Spaghetti, my Thursday-night special.” 

Hanna snickered under her breath as Jack invited himself over for dinner and Arabella rolled her eyes. “I should be home. I’ll ring you if I’m working late.” She said, throwing her bag onto her shoulder. She took one step backwards, “I’ll see you guys tonight then, yeah?” She took another step.

The two friends quickly waved her off with simple goodbyes and Hanna turned on her heel and walked to the exit. She quickly opened the door, pushing out into the cold Nashville spring with a ring of the bell above her head. 

The walk from the coffee house on the college campus to Hanna’s part-time job wasn’t too far. Combating traffic lights and the lunch rush-hour, she jogged across the street and down the block to a brick, two-story townhouse. It was an old, historic family home that had been converted into the hub of Nashville’s prominent music magazine CHERRY BUZZ and housed the offices, writers rooms, and a kitchen. It wasn’t much, but it was honest.

Hanna had jumped onto the payroll for CHERRY BUZZ two years prior. When she moved to Nashville for college, she immersed herself in the music scene, finding life-long friends and even an interest in the darkest corners of Broadway bars. While juggling a journalism and photography degree, she applied for the open part-time position at CHERRY that allowed her to share her interests while also putting herself out there, and it had placed her in the lap of opportunities that she couldn’t even imagine herself in before. On the weekdays she was attending local gigs and seeing shows with a backstage pass, and then on the weekends she was cooped up in her apartment, running solely on caffeine while shuffling out photos and articles for the new addition. There was the occasional gig that she jetted off for during her seasonal college breaks, spanning all the way across the country. And it was what she loved. 

Music and writing made her feel more like herself than anything else. 

Jogging up the front steps of the townhouse, Hanna slipped inside and was immediately greeted with the rush of the workday - while normal working people were on their lunch breaks, everyone in the office was trying to finish editing articles and printing photos to be submitted before deadlines. She walked in further, passing by the desks with the cling of typewriters and the smell of cigarette smoke in the air, catching a glimpse of the news on the TV across the room before placing her bag at her desk.

Just as she lowered down into the squeaky leather-padded chair, the door to the chief editor’s office flew open. The blinds on the door rattled against the glass as Ken stepped out - a cigar between his fingers, his eyes behind amber-rimmed glasses shooting out across the floor to Hanna. “Hart,” he nodded as her head perked up, “can I see you for a second?” 

Abandoning her things on the desk, Hanna rocked out of her chair and back to her feet. No one had even looked away from their tasks, so she breezed by them all, stepping right into the office. 

“How you doin’ kid?” Ken asked while lowering in his desk chair. 

Hanna shut the door behind her and sat in one of the velvet chairs. “I’m alright. Spent all of this morning studying for final exams.” 

Ken sat back in his chair, the creaks filling the room, and kicked his feet up on the desk. Everyone in the office was used to his easy-going personality that Hanna didn’t even bat an eye. While most adults warned kids of what would and wouldn’t fly in the workplace, everything flew in the CHERRY BUZZ office, as long as the work was done on time. 

Often they would all take hours for lunch after a morning of meetings, sometimes they would all stay late with drinks and shove the desks together for a round of poker, and they were guilty of sneaking in naps in the conference room after a late night of writing. It was a welcoming and relaxing atmosphere that calmed Hanna in contrast to her overwhelming classes and college schedule. 

“Once those finals are over, you’ll be free, so there shouldn’t be any worries.” He said rocking back and forth. 

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” she said with a small laugh, “I’ll have all the free time to focus on photography and writing.” 

“Well, kid, if you’re interested,” he paused and Hanna felt her heartbeat in her ears, “there is a new act comin’ south in a couple weeks. They’re from Michigan - first show is in Atlanta, and their publisher, Max Lane… he’s uh, he’s been on my ass for the past week to get someone to be their tour photographer.” 

And there wasn’t even a beat of hesitation before Hanna said the magic words - _I’ll do it_. She didn’t know what the idea entailed, who the act was or what music they even played, but she wanted in. Ken chuckled at her hastiness and kicked his legs off the desk, walking to the small mini-bar in the corner of the room. 

“I knew you couldn’t turn down a gig.” He said and the sound of the whiskey pouring filled the room, the crystal glass clinking when he capped the bottle. A beat later, he was back at his desk, sitting the glass down on the dark oak. “They’re a rock band - three brothers and a friend. It’s fourteen shows over three weeks.” He explained before looking back at her. “Think you can handle it?” 

“When’s the first show?” 

Ken glanced down to the calendar on his desk, pointer finger running over the dates. “May 13th,” 

Two weeks from that specific day. It gave her time to finish her article, take exams, run errands in preparation for weeks taking photos and pick up more film, and pack however many bags that she knew she was going to need. 

“That works for me,” Hanna nodded, bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

“Great, great!” Ken bellowed, sticking the cigar back in his mouth as he fumbled around with papers on his desk. “Come back in on Friday and we’ll have all the paperwork for you with booked flights and hotels. This time, it’s all on us, since you picked up the slack the last few weeks.” He said, absent-mindedly motioning out to the office floor.

“That sounds great,” Hanna beamed a smile that filled the room before she nodded, “and thank you so much Ken,” 

Ken waved her off. “I just knew it was the job for you, kid,” 

Standing from her chair, heading back to the door, Hanna licked her lips and spun around, “wait, who else is covering them?” 

Ken looked up to her and then used a hand to motion to the floor once again. “Phoebe,” 

Phoebe Gray. She was one of the veteran writers for CHERRY BUZZ, spending the last few years covering a wide range of artists all the way across the country. Hanna nodded in content when she heard her name - her and Phoebe were close, often getting coffee together and covering the same gigs in different mediums. 

She just agreed, but the job already seemed to be getting better and better with each second. 

☼☼☼

A week and a half later, after her first meeting with Ken, Hanna sat on her bedroom floor, stuffing as many articles of clothing as she could into her suitcases. Baby blue suitcases were spread across her floor, flung open and full of everything she could possibly shove inside - shoes, pants, shirts, sweaters, belts, bags, anything and everything.

Laughter carried down the hallway of the tiny two-bedroom apartment. Arabella’s girlfriend Clementine had come over to spend the weekend, and Jack, of course, had invited himself over every day since their last final exam. Hanna was unaware that they had been over a lot more often to spend time with her before she left. Quality time was just one of the love languages in the small friend group.

Fitting in one last pair of shoes into a suitcase, Hanna pressed the top down and snapped the locks shut. The hardcover was nearly bulging on one side, nearly popping the suitcase open from tension, but she placed another suitcase on top of it in hopes it would keep it closed.

“I swear you didn’t even bring this much stuff when you moved in here.” 

Hanna looked over to see Arabella standing in her doorway, a shoulder pressed against the wood frame as she took in the sight of what looked like the aftermath of a tornado on the bedroom floor. 

“I have officially shoved every single pair of underwear I own into this bag.” She said closing another. 

“What do you plan on, peeing yourself every day?” 

Hanna shoved the other bag to the side, shrugging. “Who knows,” she said with a small laugh. 

Arabella pushed herself off the doorframe and walked further into the room, stepping over bags and strewn clothes to the bed where she sat down on the edge. The mattress sank under her weight and she looked down at Hanna manically crawling on her knees, grabbing equipment for her camera to shove into another bag.

It wasn’t the first time Hanna had jetted off for an assignment in another city, but it would be the longest Arabella and Hanna had been apart in almost a year. Once again there would be a pause in their Thursday dinners and nights falling asleep on the sofa to their favorite tv-show. Instead, Hanna assumed Clementine would be staying over more often, if not every day, and Jack would be popping in all the time (like normal.) 

The longest that Hanna had spent away from Arabella was the ten days she spent in New England for a ten-show gig with Led Zeppelin on their North American Tour of 1972. So this was different. Arabella became used to Hanna being home more often, with the exception of a few weekend gigs in Memphis or Louisville every once in a while, and the thought of being apart from her gave her a dose of separation anxiety. 

Sitting on the bed, Arabella looked up at the memories tacked on a corkboard on the wall next to Hanna’s vanity. There were a few concert tickets, a festival bracelet, bar receipts from special outings, tiny quotes on slips of lined paper, and dozens of polaroids with dozens of people - family, friends, celebrities, anything and everything. 

Hanna saw Arabella’s fixation on the board and looked at it too, but instead of Arabella’s steady gaze, there was a small smile that tugged on her lips. The things she kept were memories she was fond of, things she held close to her heart, including the photos of her friends. Inside she was buzzing with excitement to board her flight in the morning, ready to make even more memories that she knew she would add to the board the second she stepped in the apartment upon return.

Arabella pressed her arms against her thighs, looking at her younger friend. “I’m going to miss you, Banana,” And there was the nickname. Arabella wasn’t the sentimental type, but it came out in moments like these. 

Hanna looked at her, softening into a smile. “I’m going to miss _you_ , Ara,” she stressed. “But I will always be a phone call away.” 

“Almost a month though, love!” She groaned, falling back onto the bed dramatically. 

On the floor, the girl laughed and locked her last suitcase, shoving it away with the others stacked in the corner of her closet and bed. She stood up, wiping her hands on her shorts before launching onto the bed, landing next to her friend with a thud that made them both laugh for a second.

“But I will be back before you know it.” Hanna said, scooting closer to her. “And it’s not that long. You have Clementine and Jack to keep you company, I will call every day that I can, and I will even mail you postcards and gifts while I’m gone.” She laid her head on Arabella’s shoulder as they curled into each other, hugging tight.

Arabella groaned. “You say Jack coming over is my idea. That’s all him.” 

“He made a copy of our key, didn’t he?” 

“Somehow, the bastard,” she said, voice muffled against Hanna’s head, and they both laughed again. Jack was the clingy friend, and sometimes they would show up to their own apartment to find him already sitting on their sofa between classes. “I know that you won’t be gone all that long, I’m just gonna miss you, that’s all.” 

“I know, and I’ll miss you too. And our Thursday night dinners.” 

“You only use me for my spaghetti recipe.” 

“Not true, I loved your experimental chicken tacos. Even when they did give me food poisoning.” 

And Arabella swiftly slapped Hanna on the side. Hanna giggled and tilted her head up, kissing her cheek before sitting up off the bed. Arabella followed along with a sigh, but she was smiling. Down the hallway, they both heard Clementine and Jack calling out for them from the kitchen adjacent to their living room, followed by the sounds of plates and forks being shuffled out. 

Hanna’s brow creased. “They fixed dinner?” 

“For you,” Arabella hopped off the mattress, feet landing on the carpeted floor, and she grabbed Hanna’s hands. “Come on,” 

And Hanna let Arabella pull her from the bed and down the hallway to the kitchen. The round wooden table was filled with colorful placemats and plates, a large abundance of food sitting in the middle, just waiting for all of them to dive in. 

The four lowered into seats and immediately began to pass around dishes. They ate dinner and drank wine, talking about anything other than Hanna’s future plans, laughing at each other, enjoying the presence of everyone together for the last time in what would be almost a month apart.

That night after drinking another bottle of wine and watching a movie, Hanna found herself unable to sleep. She had to be up at 5:00 a.m. on the dot to get to the airport, but she couldn’t find rest. So she fumbled out of bed and found a spot on the sofa, laying down with her head propped upon one of the many decorative throw pillows. 

What was an empty space a little over a year ago, Arabella and Hanna turned into a sanctuary. The apartment was filled with bright colors, vintage furniture, and an abundance of plants. Hanna wanted an animal, maybe a cat, but she knew that she wasn’t around long enough most hours of the day to have an animal to take care of.

Besides the hours while Hanna was either in class or at home and the days she held a camera in front of her eye at the foot of a stage, surrounded by hundreds and thousands of people, she found herself lonely. It wasn’t a depressive lonely, it was much more like an existential lonely. While she was showered with platonic love from coworkers, friends, and family, she often felt romantically unfulfilled. She had two lovers in her twenty-odd years of life - a boyfriend in high school, a girlfriend in her first year of college, but they both ended as quickly as they began. She felt that maybe she would just be a bachelorette for the rest of her years, and while it sounded appealing, a part of her also longed for a type of romantic love. 

To make up for her lack of intimacy, she settled for hook-ups and one night stands. Hook-ups while on the road and covering gigs were the easiest - a chat backstage or at the after party in a local town bar, wind up in a hotel room, and bid adieu a few hours later when the sun rose, and then she was either heading to the next city or heading back home. It was just a simple fix for the need of fulfillment in the moment. 

She wanted, just one day, to feel a type of love that made her feel much more alive in a sense she never tasted before. But for now, she settled for falling into bed with whoever caught her eye.

Hanna slipped out the apartment door and sat under the stars on the front step, flicking a lighter until it lit the end of her cigarette, and she drew in a deep inhale, the smoke filling her mouth and lungs. It wasn’t a nicotine addiction, rather a more casual thing that helped fulfill her oral fixation, along with the drinking, biting of nails, and snacking on whatever was around. Traveling and the plans for her future in the upcoming weeks had wracked her brain, and she needed a moment of clarity, so she counted the stars until she became tired, and then went back inside and fell asleep before the break of dawn. 


	2. CHOCOLATE CANDY, JESUS CHRIST

Two hours after she finally fell asleep in her own bed, Hanna was back awake and on her feet. In the twilight outside the apartment, Arabella helped her load her bags into the back of a taxi, and after a somber goodbye hug, she left for the airport where she met up with a very sleepy and equally disgruntled Phoebe Gray at the airport bar. She had a whiskey glass in front of her, eyes shielded by dark sunglasses while her tousled hair rested on the collar of her fur coat. 

To Hanna, Phoebe had the look of a textbook groupie - the short, blonde curls that framed her slender face, her light eyes in a permanent state of seduction, always wearing red lipstick no matter the day or hour that stained the butt of her cigarettes and the rim of her drink glasses. She was raised as a flower child, but her heart was set in rock n’ roll, which was why her and Hanna got on like a house fire. But Phoebe wouldn’t be caught in the walk of shame after a rowdy night in the Continental Hyatt House. It wasn’t her style. 

“It’s not even 6:30 yet and you’re already a drink down?” Hanna teased from a small distance when Phoebe looked up at her under the fluorescent airport lights. “Jesus Christ,” 

Every passing pair of shoes squeaked on the linoleum floors and everything smelled vaguely like disinfectant. The morning airport rush hadn’t even hit yet, but everyone was either at the bar or spread across a row of seats with their eyes closed. The sun was just starting to lift over the horizon of fields around them. 

Phoebe groaned and smacked her palm on the barstool next to her, signaling Hanna to take a seat. “Yes, now join me,” 

And Hanna let out a small laugh, sliding her bag off her shoulder and onto the floor before joining the blonde on the barstool. The bartender looked at her for just a split second before Phoebe was already ordering two more whiskey neat's. And they sat at the bar, yawning between sips from crystalline glasses until their gate was called, but when their feet finally touched the aisle of the plane, all of the excitement inside of them began to buzz. 

The flight to Atlanta was only an hour, but Hanna and Phoebe were throwing back airplane shooters with sips of juice while giggling and talking about what they pictured the tour to be like as they soared above the clouds. They both pictured themselves in the days of sunshine on festival grounds, they pictured nights filled with dramatic makeup and strobe lights from the side stage, they pictured drinks, laughter, and bar hopping until the early hours of the morning. They had no idea what else to expect.

Hanna’s dress blew in the dry southern wind as she and Phoebe unloaded their suitcases from the back of their rental car. She looked up through her rose colored sunglasses to see the sign she recognized from a movie - the _Georgian Terrace Hotel_ , a hotel in midtown among the few skyscrapers popping upon here and there, the white letters of the hotel name printed across a deep blue canopy over the entrance. She smiled and tucked the envelope of papers under her arm before continuing into the lobby behind Phoebe. They were welcomed with a rush of cold air and the smell of old flowers as Hanna placed the envelope of booking information on the desk, and the room greeted the same - cool, the scent of roses. 

The heavy white door clicked shut behind them when they stepped inside the suite, leaving their suitcases on the foyer steps while emerging further into the room. It was an all expenses-paid-for suite, full of white and dusty pink colored furniture and deep green rugs, black and white patterned curtains that hid a view of the city surrounding them. Their eyes were wide as they took in their surroundings. For two journalists, working for a fairly new music magazine, they were doing alright for themselves in the industry. And, well, Ken's leniency with the company bank account helped too. 

“Holy shit,” Phoebe said, followed with a laugh while she sank into the sofa cushions, giving Hanna a look that drew her in. Hanna ran over, launching herself onto the cushions of another sofa, sinking into the comfort compared to the hard airplane seats. “Can we just tell Ken that we’ll take every job the magazine gets from now on?” 

Hanna nestled her cheek against the yellow throw pillow, humming. “Then _we_ would be the rockstars.” 

Phoebe’s eyes drifted closed and she felt like she was drifting upon a cloud. “It’s a good deal. I would take it.” 

“I would too,” Hanna yawned. 

☼☼☼

Hanna stared at herself in the full-length mirror on the wall, twirling in the patterned dress she had picked out from her suitcase, watching it bloom around her legs and move with her. What was a clean suite when her and Phoebe arrived hours ago was now destroyed by the remains of a nap, rushed take-out dinner, and how quickly both girls unpacked to get ready for the night out of pure excitement and adrenaline. Hanna’s room became a mess of clothes and shoes as she tried on different outfits, then took them off, tossing them to the floor before moving onto the next one. 

“Nope,” she huffed to herself, pulling the straps of the dress off her shoulders and allowing the dress to clump on the floor. It didn’t fit what she pictured herself wearing that night. She wanted a more laid-back, yet put-together look to meet the new band, their roadies, and do her job. 

Picking up the dress, Hanna tossed it onto the bench at the end of the bed and stormed back to her suitcases, picking up different articles of clothing, and then tossing them aside when she deemed them unworthy. Across the suite, she could hear Phoebe cursing, doing much of the same as she riled through her bags.

Throwing open the last suitcase, she pulled out a pair of shoes and laid them aside, and then pulled out a piece of folded red material. Holding it out in her hands, she tilted her head and then stepped in front of the mirror to hold it up to her body. She pictured herself wearing it with a pair of bell bottoms and her trusty boots, and then she finally pieced it all together in her head.

“Any luck?” Phoebe asked, her bare feet on the cold hardwood as she crossed the suite in just her underwear to poke her head in Hanna’s room. She saw the girl turning around, holding a red top to her shoulders.

“Think so,” Hanna spun around, placing the shirt on the bed to begin searching for her trust jeans. “What about you?” 

“Not a single sliver of luck in my case,” she huffed, “you have anything I can wear?” 

Hanna hummed and looked at the chaos of her room. There were clothes, belts, shoes, everything everywhere. “Give it a shot, lovebug,” she said before pulling out her bell bottoms from another bag. 

While their taste differed - Phoebe had a more vintage, monotone sense of fashion while Hanna went for more earthy toned and classic to the era fashion, Phoebe was giving every piece of Hanna’s wardrobe a chance. Nothing was too bright, too out there, or too big. 

They were like two headless chickens running around the suite, trading clothes, borrowing lipsticks, and giving critiques when asked. 

Three hours before they were due to make their way to the venue, Hanna and Phoebe stood in one of the suite bathrooms, staring at their reflections in the mirror hanging on the deep green tile above the sink. Phoebe had chosen the last dress that Hanna had tried on - a burnt orange number that hung just above her knees, paired with her white wedge sandals, and Hanna had chosen a long-sleeved red top with a low neckline and wide cuffs, a pair of light denim bell bottoms, and her silver platform boots that she took everywhere, which boosted her height, and her ego, just slightly.

Looking between them both, they giggled, leaning into each other. “How fuckin’ bomb do we look, sugar?” 

The younger girl beamed, doing a three-sixty in the mirror. “So cool,” 

Phoebe looked at Hanna, noticing that she hadn’t finished her makeup yet. She reached out with a stern hand, grabbing her arm just above the elbow. “You need lipstick,” she said, guiding Hanna to the side of the tub where she pushed her shoulders, motioning her to sit on the edge. Hanna sank down and Phoebe turned to her makeup bags on the counter, pulling out a tube of lipstick and then looking back at Hanna. “Come on, pout for me,” 

Hanna’s rounded eyes stared up at Phoebe before she lowered down on her knees in front of her, and Hanna pursed her lips, letting her smear the red tinted balm across her lips in long swipes. She rolled her lips once, then twice, and then Phoebe smiled. 

“That’s better,” she said pinching Hanna’s thigh before standing up. “Okay, okay, we probably should get going now.” 

They both rushed out of the bathroom and back into Phoebe’s room. 

“I need to get my camera,” Hanna said before sliding into the living room where their other bags were spread out on the sofa. She went to a particular bag, pulling out her trusty Canon camera, making sure to tuck another roll of film in her bag, too. “Make sure to grab your recorder!” She called out to Phoebe. 

Phoebe immediately shot a hand down to her bag, touching the leather to feel out the recorder on the inside. She let out a sigh of relief. “I got it!” She called out. 

Hanna tucked away her camera and film, and she saw Phoebe walk into the living room while shouldering her own bag. “How are you feeling? Excited?” 

“Yeah,” she said with a nod, “yeah, I’m excited. How are you feeling?” 

“Kind of buggin’,” Hanna said hastily, getting it off her chest. She was excited, but her nerves were starting to get the best of her already.

Phoebe’s eyes softened as she walked over to lean against the back of the sofa across from Hanna. “What’s got you buggin’?”

“Just don’t know anybody on this tour. I knew all of the promoters and producers of the last few gigs because everybody knows everybody, but this time, it’s a whole new group of people.” She said with a small shrug.

Phoebe pursed her lips. “At least they aren’t British,” 

Hanna snorted. “They really are a different species, aren’t they?”

“Truly,” Phoebe said. “And you won’t be saying ‘bloody’ for months like you did after the tour with Zeppelin.” 

Hanna laughed. She had only spent ten days with Led Zeppelin but picking up on their British slang was truly like speaking a different language, and it took a few days to get used to it, but once she did, she rolled with it. A lot of times she was like a translator to hotel concierges and restaurant waiters when the band rolled up post-show for a meal. 

Phoebe walked around the edge of the sofa, crossing the space between her and Hanna, and grabbed her shoulders, holding her tight as their eyes met. “But there is nothing to be worried about. You are so good at meeting people and making friends with them, and they are going to be lovely. So don’t bug out about it.” 

Hanna let out a deep breath and nodded as she listened to her friend’s word of affirmation. Their platonic support extended great lengths when it came to making each other feel comfortable as themselves. She always felt like Phoebe was the perfect older sister, and that they had the perfect sibling dynamic. Phoebe as the veteran writer and older sister who knew the ropes of the industry and got Hanna into clubs to cover gigs while underage, and Hanna as the newbie and little sister who asks Phoebe a bunch of questions and buys lunch on Fridays. It was even down to the trope of borrowing each other’s clothes. 

“Let’s just go and give it a chance, alright sugar?” 

“Yeah,” Hanna cleared her throat and nodded, “yeah, let’s go.” 

Grabbing their last-minute things, and after a last-minute chance of jewelry by Phoebe, the girls left their suite and took the elevator down to the lobby. Walking through the lobby, the two girls were immersed with workers, businessmen, and b-grade musicians, and they strolled by and out the glass doors to the streets of downtown Atlanta. 

A cotton candy sunset filled the sky as the girls walked down the block, passing lit lamp posts decorated with ribbons and gig posters, guiding them straight to the Fox Theatre just down the street. The city was buzzing - cars passing by to drop people off, news vans camping across the street to report on the show, and fans were wrapped around the block. Phoebe and Hanna walked down the front of the venue, their eyes set on the beige building and it’s large marquee; _FOX_ written in bright white letters bolded by red. Along the marquee were the guests of the night; _GRETA VAN FLEET presents MARCH OF THE PEACEFUL ARMY TOUR. MAY 13, 1973 - SOLD OUT_

Hanna looked at the pictures of the band that were tacked behind glass windows out front, along with the ticket prices and showtimes. There were four of them against a black background, standing out against a wall with bright colorful pieces of clothing and long hair. 

They walked around to the side of the building to the back entrance, grabbing the handle of the door and pulling it open to hold for Phoebe behind her. Cold air rushed from inside, pooling around their legs and nipped at their cheeks, flushed from the late-spring heat. They stepped inside, flashing their laminated press passes in the face of the guard behind the desk, and they were allowed past the check-in.

Backstage of the Fox Theatre was unlike most venues - while doubling as a theatre for actual productions, there were paintings and signatures on every corner of every wall - murals for productions and specific actors, signatures from actors, signatures from the bands who had roamed the same halls. The bright lights bounced off the red concrete floors and onto the colorful artwork. As they walked past the production offices, a voice called out to them, pausing them in their tracks to look to the right. 

“My Cherry girl!” Both their heads snapped up to see an older man in a powder blue suit heading in their direction with a bright smile and yellow-tinted glasses perched on his nose. “Phoebe Gray, how are you doing, my darling?” 

Hanna heard Phoebe laugh and step to him, his arms opening to grab her shoulders, and they air-kissed each other's cheeks. She listened from behind as they chatted briefly, and then Phoebe reached a blind hand out behind her, grabbing Hanna’s hand to pull her closer to her.

“Hanna, this is Dick, he’s the booking promoter, and Dick, this is Hanna Hart, she’s a new addition at CHERRY BUZZ.” She jumped into a small story of how she and Dick met in 1969 after The Rolling Stones’ show in Philadelphia, when she threw up on his shoes in the dressing room bathroom.

Under the dark lights of the backstage area, Hanna could make out the aged wrinkles in Dick’s face, the gold tooth snagged just behind his lip. He reached out a ringed hand and she took it, firmly shaking it with a small smile as she nodded to him in a greeting. 

“So I get two Cherry girls instead, a dream come true,” he grinned before looking back to Phoebe. “Are you both covering tonight?” 

Phoebe turned, flashing the pass she had tucked on her bag. “What else would we be doing, Rich? You know I don’t stop working.” 

“Always on the move,” he tsked. Down the hallway, loud laughter bounced off the concrete floors, and they all glanced down the corridor before Dick turned to them, pointing a steady finger. “Come on, let me introduce you gals to the main stars of the night,” 

The two journalists followed behind the promoter, letting him lead them down the concrete corridor to a large green room on the right. When he stepped inside, the talking hushed, and then the girls stopped in the doorway, allowing Dick to introduce them. 

The green room was filled with bodies, white carpet, and black leather sofas. Hanna’s eyes gazed right over the faces, landing on a wall behind the sofa which was plastered with colorful concert tickets from previous performers and artists.

“Friends, here are the girls that are going to make you famous,” 

Through the haze of smoke that filled the room, five heads turned and eyes landed on the two girls standing in the door. Hanna’s green eyes darted around the room, picking and choosing what to focus on in one swoop to avoid catching a gaze for too long - long hair, feathers, bare torsos, and a lack of shoes. She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her pants and stepped further inside when Phoebe’s shoulder pushed her forwards. 

“Girls,” Dick turned to them as all the bodies moved to the center of the room to greet them, “this is the magnificent drummer, Daniel,” he motioned to the taller, dark-haired man, and Hanna quickly extended her hand, meeting in the middle for a handshake as they smiled at each other. Dick turned to the man next in line, clamping a hand on his shoulder, “this is Max, the band’s publicist,” she saw Max leaning against a vanity, and they shook hands quickly. “And this is Sam, the glorious bassist, and this is Jake, the guitarist and the man who never seems to have a shirt on,” they all briefly greeted with laughter and hand shakes, following down the line to the last person, “and girls, this is the lead song-singer of this generation, Josh,” 

Hanna meets Josh’s brown eyes across the small distance of the room, and unaware of her movements, she shuffled straight into the edge of the coffee table, causing them all to laugh. Her cheeks flushed with a chuckle and she looked back to meet Josh’s eyes before shaking his hand. 

“And boys,” Dick paused, holding out a hand to motion to the two girls, “this is Phoebe Gray and Hanna Hart.” 

“Lovely to meet you ladies,” Josh said first as their hands dropped and he shook Phoebe’s hand next.

Hanna smiled. “Likewise,” 

“Are you here to cover all of us?” 

The two girls shared a glance and a smile before Phoebe licked her lips and looked back at Josh. “For the first leg in the south and northeast, you’re not going to be able to get rid of us.” 

And all of the previous nerves that wracked Hanna’s mind calmed when he shot them a smile. When they all turned and looked at each other after being introduced, Dick spoke up again, clapping his hands to get their attention; 

“Alright gals,” he pointed two fingers at them, “what’s your drink of choice? All of it’s on the house tonight.” 

Dick’s eyes first set on Phoebe and the girl’s first alcoholic drink came to mind, “an old fashioned on the rocks.” 

Dick nodded and then turned to Hanna, whose eyes went wide. Her and Phoebe had drunk that entire morning at the airport and during their flight, but she assumed that it would be better to continue drinking than to ride the rest of the night without one. “A dirty martini, straight, please,” 

“Two cocktails for the gals, got it,” he said before patting Danny on the back as he exited the room.

As everyone slowly turned their attention back to the room and each other, Phoebe gently elbowed Hanna, earning her attention once more. “You jivin’ yet?” 

Hanna laughed, both at Phoebe and at her former self for being so anxious about nothing at all. She felt welcomed immediately, and that was all a journalist like her could ask for.

“Absolutely,” she said, lowering onto the leather sofa with a smile. There was a bowl of chocolate candy on the coffee table, and she plucked one from the bowl to toss into her mouth. Phoebe rolled her eyes with a smile and joined her on the sofa.

Backstage felt electric. 

Up and down the halls, roadies and techs were making last minute checks and getting everything together, fans were starting to pour in through the doors. The opening band for the night was rehearsing in the basement green room, vibrating the floor under their feet, and there was a sense of familiarity in the air in the room when they all joined in to sing the familiar lyrics to Joan Baez’s _It Ain’t Me Babe_. 

Across the room, Jake’s and Sammy’s fingers plucked the strings of their acoustic guitars and the tip of Danny’s drumsticks met the wood on the corner of the coffee table. Hanna leaned her head against the cushion of the sofa, listening in with a smile as Josh’s voice filled the room. Unfamiliar with their music, she wasn’t sure what they were singing until they changed to another song - that time she knew it was The Band’s _The Weight_. It was played in every Nashville karaoke bar for years that she learned the words by force. 

Dick returned with their drinks, rushed from the bar just down the hall and right into their hands. Hanna didn’t wait, tilting the martini glass up at her lips and downing a couple solid sips while they all listened in close to the four playing and singing together. There was a pause of admiration of their voices, as if everyone in the room wasn’t there for them specifically. 

Hanna’s eyes watched as Josh sang, listening in closely to his bluesy, soulful controlled voice. He looked so young - maybe it was the feathers and curls that took off a few years - to have a voice much more mature than him. 

Leaning onto the edge of the sofa, she propped her chin in her hand. Josh sat, straddling the ottoman of a chair, singing as the others focused on their instruments in hand. As they cut from the second to last chorus of the five-minute song, Josh looked at Hanna, and he grinned as if something sweet came to mind; “ _To get back to miss Hanna, you know she’s the only one who sent me here with her regards for everyone,”_ he sang and her eyes softened as the others in the room laughed at the improvisation. 

It took another chorus for Hanna to remember how to breathe. 

Hours passed and the drinks kept coming as stage time neared. Everyone was opening up, loosening up, drinking the nerves away, but not drinking enough to be absolutely incoherent for the show. Hanna and Phoebe sat backstage with them, toasting beers and laughing at small conversations. They weren’t focused on their jobs more than they were focused on getting to know each other. Warming up to them and having them warm up to you was the biggest feat, and the biggest part of their jobs. Without a relationship, they wouldn't be able to do their jobs. So they cracked a few jokes, asked a couple of questions, and talked to them as if they would anyone else, and slowly, they all began to fall into place. 

Before the show, Hanna sat on a rack case on stage-left, looking through the small split in the curtains where she could make out the spotlights on the dark flooring, the heads of thousands packed into the theatre. Her camera was perched next to her thigh, a drink in her hand, and a smile on her lips as she watched everyone run around, grabbing last-minute microphones and chords, taking last-minute shots in preparation. 

She watched Sam cross the floor with a thud of his bare feet, the mint bass firmly secured around his neck and shoulder. When he spotted her camera, he pushed his hair back behind his shoulders; “Hanna, Hanna, take a picture of me.” He said, snapping his fingers as he pointed to her camera. “Need you to remember this pretty face,” 

“How could I ever forget it.” She said with a laugh, picking up her camera and sitting it in front of her face. She held the camera to her eye, using her other hand to adjust the focus before getting him in frame and pushing the capture button. He was holding his bass by the neck, pointing the end of the guitar straight at her with a serious face, and she captured it all in a single swift click.

She heard Sam’s chuckle and she lowered the camera from her eye, a smile shielded behind the camera body. Max was then at Sam’s side, sliding an arm around his shoulder;

“Alright, man, it’s time to do this.” Max grinned, feeling the buzz that carried throughout the building. The first show of the tour was always the most invigorating. It set the pace for the rest of the tour. He turned to Hanna, raising a brow, “make sure to make these boys look good.” 

“That won’t be hard at all.” She said, eyeing the other three who stood with Dick and Phoebe just off the stage. They were all dressed - sparkly cropped suit jackets and vests, boots, and leather pants galore. “They already do that on their own.” 

Out in the theatre, the lights dimmed, and the room felt like it was vibrating. Hanna and Phoebe locked eyes through the moving bodies and smiled. The older journalist sent one last dazzling smile to the boys as they walked through the curtain on cue, and then she was at Hanna’s side, grabbing her hand and pulling her through a smaller curtain and door, and to a spot just below the stage.

When the lights flickered on, Fox Theatre exploded, and Hanna paused in her boots, staring out at the thousands of heads, even in the highest rafters. It was an endless sea of people screaming, whistling, chanting their name over and over and over. When blue and purple lights filled the room and the first sounds of a song was heard, the room was deafening. 

Hanna and Phoebe looked at each other and they smiled. They lived for this. It was an atmosphere they wanted to dive into, that they wanted to live in.

 _“1! 2! 3! 4!”_ They heard Danny yell with each clack of his drumsticks before Jake’s guitar took over, sending the room into a frenzy of smiles and cheers. 

Walking the small space between the first row of seats and the bottom of the stage, Hanna tilted her chin back and looked up, watching the four closely as they jumped into their first song of the night, feeding off the eyes that were all on them. 

Josh was front and center, the purple lights bouncing off his black velvet vest, off the white feathers that hung in a perfect halo on his head and down to his shoulders. Hanna brought the camera to her eye, steadying it in her hands as she squinted through the viewfinder, and she caught him as he paused to stand at downstage, bending down to sing to the fans who were right up front. It was a group of three girls - their arms extended out to him, holding white roses, yelling his name with eyes of admiration.

He was the lead man, and it was obvious just looking at him. It was in his walk across the stage, the way his legs kicked out, the way he moved his hands while singing, in how he smirked, the way he lived in the glow of the lights and the screams for his name. He was meant to be on the stage. 

Jake stood to Josh’s right, his cropped emerald green jacket hung just to his hips, the cherry Gibson slung right at his waist as he focused all his attention down to his hands. He bounced - back and forth, back and forth, skipping in his solos to reach the pedals near the amplifiers, and when he closed his eyes and lolled his head back, fingers still working fast as ever on the strings, she saw the passion radiating from him. When he began his solo in the second song of the night, Hanna perched herself right beneath him off the stage, shooting upwards as he approached her, knee drawn up with his hair stuck to the sweat on his neck. 

When the second song ended and Josh took a second to greet the crowd, earning thousands of cheers in response to “playing it pretty for Atlanta”, Hanna took her chance to get another photo of Danny. He had paused, holding both drumsticks in his hand, and his knees were bouncing. Catching something that Josh had said, Danny chuckled, and Hanna pressed her shutter button, capturing him perfectly at his drum set. 

And she caught Sam, who stood on the far right, moving gracefully with the heavy bass across his shoulders. Moving in front of security guards and around pieces of sound equipment, Hanna made it to the side of the stage, camera propped in front of her eye as her finger hovered above the button. She waited for Sam to pause, his feet firm on the black stage, and then she snapped a photo, followed by another as the lights shifted to gold behind him.

After taking the gig, she talked to Ken and a few others who knew about the band of four. While still relatively new to the music scene, only jumping in a couple of years ago, their influence was widespread. Almost everyone at CHERRY BUZZ had seen them multiple times, just for fun, when they stopped in Louisville and Memphis on their last tour, and only had raves to say about them.

And Hanna could see why.

She saw many bands before - many frontmen and many guitarists and bassists and drummers, but only a few made her feel like she was floating. 

Her and Phoebe met at the middle of the pit, grabbing hands and smiling wide as they sang to their cover of Cream’s _White Room_. For a second, they were a part of the crowd, staring up at the stage with eyes of joy and singing loudly, feeling their hearts lurch in their chests. 

Greta flew through the thirteen-song setlist in a whirlwind in drum and guitar solos and colors. They snuck in one last cover before the end, _The Weight_ , just like they had practiced in the green room hours ago. With the camera out of her face and an arm around Phoebe’s shoulders, they waved their hands high in the air while singing along. And just like they had practiced in the green room, Josh slipped Hanna’s name into the song, pointing to her off the side of the stage and she laughed before continuing to sing along loudly. Four thousand people in that room joined together as one. 

It was a rapid show of equally rapid emotions and movements, and like any true rock n’ roll show, it was followed by celebratory drinks. Despite the night being their first show of the tour, they were knocking back shots and drinks like it was going to be the last show of their career. 

Backstage was packed with people - fans, the opening band and their groupies were hanging around just off stage, hoping to catch just a glimpse or word from the main act, and they all gathered in the dressing room for drinks while the roadies cleaned up. Once they drank the venue bar dry, the party moved to the hotel bar just around the block. Suites with comfortable king-sized beds awaited them upstairs while the empty hotel bar downstairs awaited their arrival with ice buckets of champagne and a new stock of every alcohol known to man. So they took advantage of it. 

"Wait, wait, gimme your shoulder," Hanna motioned to Phoebe as her head swirled from the cocktails in her system. The blonde tsked before laughing and allowing the younger girl to wrap an arm around her shoulders, and they followed the band and others through the winding backstage corridors, heading to the loading dock out back. 

They were a walking cloud of laughter and loud voices while they strolled out of the back door of the venue, greeted with at least two dozen or more fans packed at the back gate. Max had warned them moments before that people would be looking for them, crowding around, and they just brushed it off, slinging on their jackets and strolling out anyways. 

And when the fans began to call out their names, they were like moths drawn to a flame. Hanna, Phoebe, and a couple of the groupies hanged back as the two bands stepped forward to sign albums and t-shirts and chat with those lined around the gate. Fans were talking, rattling off the same repeated sentences about the show and how much they loved them, journalists and photographers were in the back snapping photos over the heads up front, sending pinpoint flashes in each direction. 

They were eventually able to break away from them. Venue security sent the fans home packing and the band broke off, heading around the block to their hotel on the east side. They slipped in, feet rushing on the marble flooring, and they slipped into the bar roped off on the first floor. 

The bar was fancy with dim lighting and off white walls and French trimming, velvet booths lined along white marble tables, but it smelled like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Everyone rushed in, falling into booths with a laugh, loudly calling out orders to the panicked bartenders standing in front of the full shelf. They definitely weren't paid enough. 

Hanna didn’t make it far into the room, placing her purse on the bar and hopping onto the cold stool while Phoebe followed Danny straight to a booth and they yelled at Jake when he showcased the bottle of whiskey he had grabbed from the venue bar without telling anyone else.

They all knew it was going to be a long night - the first night of tour always was. Everyone usually stays up all night, or at least for as long as they can, creating a bond and having a laugh because the weeks to follow would be tense when the sinking of homesickness began to set in. 

Max was the first to get everyone together, ordering a round of beers for everyone, and then offering a toast as he stood in the middle of the room. “Hey, come on guys!” He called out, grabbing a chair to stand on, finally allowing him to be the tallest in the room. “A toast!” A sudden rush of quiet settled over the room as everyone held up their beer bottles. “To the fucking amazing _March of the Peaceful Army Tour_ of 1973!” And whistles came from the mouths of the bands as the girls laughed, and they all took a drink, or a shot, or a gulp. 

Hanna brought her beer bottle to her lips, feeling the cold glass press against her palm as she took a sip. It tasted like pure wheat, but she didn’t complain, it was a better beer than the cheap cases she would buy on her college student bank account. CHERRY was not only a lead way for her to do something she loved, but also a lead way into the finer things in life - hotel suites, private jets, fine dining, everything that no ordinary person could ever afford. She chose to indulge every time, but she put on the façade that no one knew her life was any different than the one she was living. 

A part of touring was being surrounded with new people - publishers, booking agents, guards, journalists, radio hosts, photographers, groupies, all new people and new faces, so many that no one exactly kept count or remembered their names. You could be anyone that you wanted to be, and no one could tell the difference. On her first tour, Hanna was the shy and humble journalist, but by her second gig, she had put on the façade of the lavish writer who enjoyed champagne and caviar. This time, she wasn’t sure what or who she would be.

“Sugar!” Hanna’s head turned at the sound of Phoebe’s voice calling out across the bar, and she turned away from her conversation with Harry, the lead for the opening band, to cut through the smoke and see the blonde perched in a booth. “Come ‘ere! Join us!” She waved a ringed hand, signaling to the table. 

Hanna smiled and held up a hand, then turned back to Harry and the groupie attached to his side. Her name was Jodi - she was beautiful - tall and wore a dress that complimented her dark skin. She had her arms around his torso, hands locked at his hip, and Hanna said a silent prayer for Harry in the morning if he had to sneak out or kick her out of his room at the break of dawn, or if he happened to fall in love that night. Jodi had a face anyone could fall in love with. With a small smile, she grabbed her glass of whiskey and coke and crossed the floor from the bar to the booth.

“What’s up?” She asked, approaching the booth filled to the brim with people. There was no more space so Sam had to pull up a chair at the end of the table. She stood next to Phoebe on the edge, resting her hand on the back of the booth cushion, looking at the table filled with empty bottles and glasses, cigarette packs, and a deck of cards spread out in different formations.

“Do you want to play poker with us?” Phoebe asked, looking up at Hanna with glassy eyes. 

Hanna licked the inside of her bottom lip, eyeing the cards. “I actually never learned how to play poker.” 

“You don’t know how to play?” Sam asked abruptly, a hand slamming down onto the marble as he looked up at her in fake disbelief. She laughed and shook her head.

“No, I always just watched everyone instead.” 

“Here, here,” Jake collected the cards from the space in front of everyone. “We need to change that. Take your poker virginity.” 

Phoebe scooted further into the booth, hip pressed tight against Danny’s, and she grabbed Hanna’s hand to pull her in alongside her. The younger girl lowered, leaning on her hip as she sat her glass down on the table, watching Jake shuffle the cards and then deal them back to her. 

“How much we dealing in? Ten?” Hanna asked off the top of her head. She knew enough from watching movies and others play in the past to learn the basics. 

Jake pursed his lips, “it doesn’t have to be about the money-” 

“We could do strip poker instead.” Max butted in with a chuckle as he swooped over next to the booth. He wiggled his eyebrows. Everyone just chuckled, denying the idea before it even had a chance.

Josh held out a hand, quieting those throwing in offers. “We’ll just teach her first. Metaphoric money.” His eyes met Hanna’s across the table and he raised a brow high. “Unless you feel like streaking through the hotel lobby.” 

Hanna hummed, “I’d rather not. That’s more of a… a week on tour idea.” 

The four boys at the table and Phoebe tried to walk Hanna through the game of Texas Hold’em, step by step, piece by piece with terminology and moves. After a quick round, Danny became the dealer as she played against Jake, and Phoebe was in her ear, whispering details, basically becoming the girls own physical cheat-sheet. 

When her and Jake came into the final showdown, she looked at the two cards in front of her on the table before placing them down. It was a great hand, which is what both Phoebe and Sam were telling her from their side of the booth, but her poker face was nonexistent.

Trying to keep both her eyes and mouth straight, the corners of her lips couldn’t help but turn into a smile - she had a great hand, she played a great match, she had too much to drink. Across the table Jake faked being annoyed, throwing his two cards down, “you’re gonna win and you’re not even good at hiding it!” 

“I’M TRYING!” She called out as she laughed with him.

They both flipped their cards over a second later, but Jake’s move was much more in defeat as Hanna’s hand held the highest value. 

“You’re just too nice.” Sam said, patting her shoulder as they shuffled the cards back together in the deck.

“A sweetheart, she is,” Phoebe said.

Letting Jake take her cards, Hanna shrugged loosely with a smile and grabbed her beer. She just didn't have the skills of a poker player. Trying to keep a straight face in times of laughter or comedic moments was never her strong suit. Her father once made her laugh at a funeral - earning a swift scold from her mother. 

Across the booth, Josh snuck a glance at Hanna, and then another. He nodded at whatever Sam was saying before turning away, leaning his head back against the seat, and his eyes landed on Hanna again. She had a peculiar glow about her. And Josh couldn't look away. He watched her talk with Phoebe, her hands grabbing her arm as they laughed together. Under the dimmed lights, with a warm smile, he felt something kick in his chest.

"Sweet like honey," he said softly. 

Hanna's eyes followed back to Josh as he looked at her. She smiled behind the rim of her bottle before takin another sip. Even as quiet as he was, she still heard it. Her cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away when Jodi called out her name at the bar for a round of shots, and Hanna was off, leaving them behind for another round of poker so she could hide the sheepish smile. 

An hour later, after a few more drinks and gushing about Jodi's shoes with Jodi's friend Sapphire, Hanna grabbed her bag off the bar and walked in the footsteps of the others into the hotel lobby. The opening band and Max were still kicking even as the hours of the morning winded down. While she felt tempted to stay up, Hanna ultimately felt tired - she desperately needed a good nights rest after an entire day on her feet. 

In front of her, Phoebe was latched onto Danny's side, Sam's cardigan was slung off his shoulders as he waltzed through the hotel half-naked, earning a glare from behind the hotel front desk. They all looked like typical rockstars and their tag-alongs - half-naked, drunk, high, ready to wreck a hotel room or damage something along the way there.

In comparison to the others, Hanna was more on her feet. She had slowed down her intake in the last hour and snuck in glasses of water between beers, politely declining every shot that was offered her way, no matter how hard Harry and Sapphire urged her to take it. 

The lobby lights were blinding as they bounced off the marble floors and the ding of the elevator echoed in their ears when it arrived on the bottom floor. Hanna was the last to step on the elevator - her eyes locked on the wall, shoulder brushing with Josh's while the others talked loudly and passionately behind them through slurred words. They were talking something along the lines of the color of Max's shirt - Phoebe said it was yellow, Sam arguing that it was orange. She pressed the button for their floor and the doors closed, encasing them inside.

The elevator swiftly carried the six up several flights to their floor, the doors parting to reveal the dark maroon carpet and cream walls. Stepping out and walking down the hall, the rest fumbling out and scanning room numbers, Hanna fumbled with her purse, pulling out the room key. 

Reaching the right number, Hanna unlocked the door to her and Phoebe's room. She felt Phoebe run a hand along her back and shoulder before stumbling into the suite alone, Danny continuing down the hallway with Sam as they yelled at each other, shouting out three-digit combinations for their room number;

_“Was it 802?”_

_“I thought it was 820!”_ Their voices distanced as they walked further away. 

Hanna stepped inwards to follow Phoebe into their suite when a voice broke through the hallway; “It could be your new nickname, you know,” 

She spun around, spotting Josh behind her. His room was across the hallway, and she spotted Jake walking inside the room, flipping on lights before falling face-first into a bed in the middle of the room. Her eyes met Josh’s again and she squinted in confusion. 

“Honey,” he reminded her. “It fits,” 

She paused before nodding. “Honey Hart,” she said out loud and it sounded a lot better rolling off the tongue than she thought. She imagined it as her new pen name, adorned right on the by-line just below the title of an article. It made her feel like a rockstar of a different kind. “I like it.” 

Josh nodded and glanced into the room where Jake was calling out for him in a muffled voice, and then he looked back at her. “Goodnight, Honey,” 

Hanna let out a quiet laugh at the neediness in Jake’s drunk voice, looking back at the eldest brother. “Goodnight Joshua,” she said softly before they went their separate ways into their rooms on either side of the hallway. The doors clicked shut behind them, the only sound in the empty hallway. 


	3. ALLEYWAYS AND PAYPHONE CALLS

Hanna and Phoebe were draped across their beds, still in the same clothes they wore the night before when the sun rose in Atlanta, peeking into their hotel rooms. They slept in until the shrill ring of their morning wake-up call pulled them from their slumber. The phone rang at 11 a.m., but it still felt too early. They showered and ate, and with a stomach full of hotel pancakes and flimsy bacon, they pulled themselves from the hotel and into a van waiting outside.

Max and the boys of Greta Van Fleet were already waiting for them - all of them donning sunglasses on the bridges of their noses, looking much less alive than they did just hours ago when they sat in the hotel bar. Climbing into the small van, they all squeezed in and talked quietly, groaning while getting situated in the cramped seats before the driver took them through the city to a comcast building for a series of early radio shows and interviews. 

The opening band, Red Caravan, had stayed in the hotel bar until the sun rose the next morning, knocking out in their hotel beds with no plans in their books until they were due to head to Charlotte the next day. Danny asked Max what the openers were doing, and a string of curses followed when Max told them that the last time he checked, the band was still asleep. Sometimes being the opening band with no responsibilities except playing the short set most nights sounded like a better deal than what the headliners were forced into.

Atlanta was bustling that Monday morning, and while the boys were busy with a morning talk-show, Hanna slipped into the ground floor cafe and stood in line for coffee in a tiny paper cup. She downed the coffee in two gulps in an attempt to ease the pounding ache behind her eyes, all stemming from the beers and whiskeys she had downed in attempts to have a good time. She was good at handling her alcohol, usually the only one on their feet by the end of the night, but she allowed herself to loosen up for the sake of a bonding experience. 

The bonding experience that morning was in the form of shared headaches, napping in the green room before interviews, and nearly throwing up every time the driver took a sharp turn on the way back to the hotel. 

“Fuck man,” Max dry-heaved as he shoved the passenger door open, stumbling out, stomach lurching with each cough. The back door to the van rolled open slowly and everyone looked out to Max as he hunched over with his hands on his knees, heaving above the garden of flowers, and even though they didn't say a word, they understood. 

Hanna took a deep breath to calm her own stomach and climbed out of the van behind Josh, stepping onto the sidewalk out front of the hotel. Outside sat several bellhop carts packed with suitcases and valets were running around, tending to cars and suitcases, and the band and the team passed by them, heading inside to the hotel lobby. Being one of the last inside, Hanna stepped in through the revolving door to see the band gathered around one man who was pulling them into half-hugs and laughing. The man was on the short side, addict-skinny, wearing a baby blue silk patterned shirt tucked into his brown pants, and his black polished shoes stuck out like a sore thumb. Random patrons in the lobby were paying second glances to all of them, and Hanna couldn’t blame them. 

Phoebe caught onto Hanna's look of confusion and stepped over from the band to her, leaning in close to whisper in her ear, "their agent, Russ," she said and Hanna eyed him once more, noticing his thin and wonky nose, and she nodded silently before Phoebe turned to stand at her side.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen,” Russ said, hands perched upon his hips as they all stood on the marble floors, under the chandeliers of the high ceilings. “Get cleaned up and packed and we’ll meet back down here in thirty, yeah? We gotta get to Charlotte by eleven to check in.” 

North Carolina was calling their names. The boys had booked one night in Charlotte, another in Raleigh the night after. For a band that started in the north, their popularity spread all the way through the south with each radio broadcast of each song. The south loved their fair share of rock n' roll. And it had finally settled in for Hanna - there were still thirteen shows left on the tour to be performed, written about, and photographed. It wasn't ending anytime soon.

Upstairs, everyone shoved their clothes and shoes into bags and thirty minutes later, they were on the elevator, heading back down with all of their suitcases piled onto a single bellhop cart. Danny wheeled the cart out of the elevator behind everyone when they all filed into the lobby. Russ was checking everyone out at the front desk and when he saw them step off the elevator, he walked back to them with a grin, arms spread wide open as if showcasing them the greatest gift. 

“The baby has made it to Atlanta, boys,” 

_“The baby?”_ Hanna asked under her breath. 

_“The baby?!”_ Jake asked loudly, his questioning a bit more excited, less confused than Hanna’s. 

And then the boys were gone. 

Danny abandoned the bellhop cart in the lobby and the four boys took off out the revolving door and into the evening. Hanna looked at Phoebe and the blonde shrugged before latching a hand around the cart and pulling it along with them while they exited through the glass doors with much less pep in their steps. 

Walking past the valet and families unloading taxis and stepping onto the sidewalk out front, Hanna and Phoebe followed the boys straight to the street where their eyes fell upon “baby.” "Baby" was their tour bus. A silver bus was parked on the narrow street, the side door already thrown open wide while they ran inside. The two girls laughed when they saw the silhouettes of the boys through the tinted windows, and then a beat later, the windows on the side of the bus shot down and two heads peered out. 

Sam and Josh poked their heads out of the windows, looking straight at the two with the brightest smiles, as if they had just stepped foot into their home for the first time in months. “It’s the Gypsy Wagon!” Sam called out looking down and then to the side of the bus, then back to the girls, “she’s been with us since the very beginning.” He looked so happy, his hair bobbing around, much like an excited golden retriever.

Gypsy Wagon was a 60s tour bus - silver with a red pinstripe around the sides, dark tinted windows, and the band logo smacked right on the side next to the door. It stretched for what looked like a mile as it was parked and blocked traffic outside the hotel. Cars were lined up, some honking and urging it to move, but it didn’t do much to get them moving quicker.

“What did we get ourselves into?” Hanna asked, half-jokingly as she turned and looked at Phoebe over her shoulder. 

“I’ve asked myself that at least twice in the last twelve hours.” She admitted under her breath before they pulled the cart to the side of the bus. Max and Russ jogged out to help them, loading the suitcases underneath the bus while the boys ran up and down the aisles, picking out bunks and seats in the front. And they could already hear the hollow fizz of beer bottles being cracked open, even from outside.

Hanna was the first inside, Phoebe right on her heels when she climbed the stairs up. She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head and took in the Gypsy Wagon and all of her glory. It opened into leather maroon seats and tinted windows that stretched along the length of the lounge, shielded by yellow curtains. They were first welcomed by Jake's smiling face and he talked them through the bus by every memory and every use.

He showed them around from the dozen front seats to the tiny dining table that was perfect for nocturnal snacks between cities or a round of poker during the long drives, and there was a tiny fridge and counter already full of alcohol that served as a divide between the lounge and the bunks in the back. Everything had wood paneling, from the bunks to the bathroom door, but it was homely. It was a late bus that had been upgraded specifically for them between tours - and it was their holy grail.

The boys never drove the bus, though. That was a spot reserved for any member of the team that was up for it, or a willing roadie. On this day, Russ was running on a high and he wanted to be the one to get the show on the road. Literally. 

“Alright,” Russ called out, jogging up the steps, “who's ready to hit the road?” He asked, receiving nothing but cheers in response as everyone settled in for the trip. Once a tired group nursing hangovers became lively once they were on the road again. 

☼☼☼

Gypsy Wagon traveled down a two-lane highway through west South Carolina. The lounge smelled like cigarette smoke and voices carried through the bus to the front where Russ sat, the curtain of the driving pit pulled back so they could hear the hum of the radio over the engine - the radio stations changed every few miles, they heard every artists from Elton John to Steely Dan while crossing state lines, and they sang along to all of them.

Phoebe had claimed the kitchen booth, dozens of notebooks and papers spread across the light blue tabletop with a recorder in the center. She was taking a new member of the band hostage every hour while she ran through basic questions for her members’ background piece. It would help lay a basis and give the story substance - she needed the readers to know each member of the band in particular so they could feel more like a friend, more of an insider than an outlier. 

And Hanna had claimed a seat in the lounge. Her legs were spread across the leather seats, back pressed against the cool glass while she flipped through a magazine on her thighs. There was a piece on the breakup of Creedence Clearwater Revival, the sole reason she had grabbed it off the shelf of an airport kiosk in Nashville. She read the magazine while the others slept, answered questions, grabbed a drink, or plucked around on the strings of a guitar grabbed from the case in the aisle. 

In the midst of reading a quote from John Fogerty, someone moving through the tiny bus aisle knocked into Hanna's foot, garnering her attention. She raised her head, eyes full of curiosity, to see Josh sliding into the row of seats in front of her. "Hey," she smiled, closing her magazine to turn her attention to him, "Pheebs run you out of the kitchen?" 

Josh chuckle, settling into the row, back against the glass while his arm hung over the seat. "A story turned into how Danny lost his virginity and I had to bail." 

Hanna raised a brow. “I thought she was just asking how the band started.” 

“She is,” Josh deadpanned and they both looked at each other before sharing a gentle laugh.

“So a conversation about a band starting in Frankenmuth turned into how Danny lost his virginity, noted.” She said slowly and Josh nodded, shrugging. 

Hanna had caught the origins of the band from Max the previous night when he was talking to the opening band at the bar - all of them sloppily drunk, giving moral support about their past and present and futures. Greta was made up of three brothers, one friend, from a town in eastern Michigan. They had been signed with an agent for only a couple of months before a label picked them up, and their stardom was like a rocket from there, shooting them further and further into glory. They quickly shuffled out an EP and a new album, and they were opening up for British rock bands on their international tours before picking up enough traction to go on their own. This tour was their first headlining tour of their career, and it was their future banked on. 

The music industry was not a gentle one. Often, behind the curtain of expensive private jets and headline shows and the bright lights, the likings of the drugs, the abuse, the women, and the toxicity of music labels followed. Labels often squeezed the life from bands - taking away their individuality, their personality, their sound, forming them like clay to fit the mold of what the label wanted and what they thought was best. 

But Hanna had the feeling that this band, just may have been, one of the lucky ones. 

Josh sank further into his seat, head resting back against the window. He watched across the aisle, out the window as the green trees passed by with a blur outside, and then he turned to Hanna, raising a brow. “So,” he paused, giving her a once over from her lipstick to the denim shorts riding up her thighs before meeting her face, "where are you from, Honey?"

Hanna's eyes flickered to him over the edge of the seat and she felt her neck heat up at the sound of the nickname. It wasn't even a nickname yet - he had only called her it a couple of times. But she hoped that it stuck. "I, uh, I was born in Chicago but moved to Minnesota and lived there until I was 18 and moved out to Nashville for college." 

“What was that like?” 

“Minnesota?” She asked and he nodded. She shrugged. “Boring. I grew up outside of St. Cloud in a really tiny town. It was kind of that… Americana life, you know? Small town where everyone knew each other, one family named ruled everything, there wasn’t much to do as a teenager so you drove around town with friends for hours, there were a couple restaurants, a bank, but not a lot of anything else. The most midwestern lifestyle you can imagine.” Even though her words sounded like she despised the town, there was a small smile on her lips as she trailed off. A part of her still longed for the small town lifestyle, after all, it was mostly all she knew. 

“You can kinda romanticize that Americana lifestyle, sometimes.” 

Hanna tilted her head to the side. “Was your hometown like that?” 

Josh shifted to sit up higher, leaning closer across the back of the seat. “Yeah, yeah, for the most part,” he nodded, looking around the bus when Danny stood from his seat, finished with the interview from Phoebe, and then he met Hanna's eyes again. “Frankenmuth’s not small, per-se, but we lived outside of town - spent summers in the rivers and in the woods, winters chopping wood and watching it show and going sledding. It was kind of - kind of the perfect place to grow up.” 

“What makes it special?” She asked, leaning forward, arms resting on the back of the seat, too. They sat inches apart. “What makes it stand out in comparison to all the cities you visit now?” 

Josh hummed, eyes meeting the ceiling before a large grin spread across his face. He looked at her like he was about to tell a joke. “We do have the World's Largest Christmas Store,” 

Hanna’s eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking with me?” 

“If I was, I wouldn’t make up something that fucking dumb.” He said and they both laughed. "You been back to Chicago since you left?" 

"When I was sixteen," she nodded, fingers flexing to play with her rings, "my friends and I ditched the first week of school and went down during the, uh- the Democratic National Convention." 

Josh whistled quietly, catching the drift of her words. Sixteen year old Hanna hadn't been so into politics that she went to see who would become the Democratic nominee in the upcoming election - she went for the protests. He could see a glint of revolution in her eyes. She didn't seem like a physical fighter or one that would throw words around in a bar fight, but she had the mind and the wit to strive for something greater in the world. 

"Tough shit," he said and she shrugged. 

"But since then, nah, I went back to Minnesota and never left for a couple of years." 

“You said you live in Nashville now?” 

She nodded, catching a smile. “Yeah, it’s - it’s a special place, that’s for sure.”

“Our record label office is in Nashville,” Josh said, “and we’ve been looking at a few places recently to officially make the move. Maybe later this year.” 

“Oh, you should! We might not have the World’s Largest Christmas Store, but we do have a bar with a giant statue of an antelope out front.” 

Josh grinned at her, “I’m sold,” 

The bus pulled into a town just outside of Charlotte with an hour to kill. They had made good timing considering the amount of traffic they came across on two-lane roads. Russ hummed, flipping on his signal, and pulled the bus into the parking lot of a 24/7 diner. They were in the middle of nowhere, a random stop amongst the small town in the thick of trees, but they were all starving, so any random stop could have sufficed. A diner made it just a little sweeter, though.

Grabbing her jacket, Hanna slipped her arms through the sleeves and stepped off the bus behind Jake, the rest jogging off and following the bright fluorescent and neon lights to the diner while Hanna split off, heading to a payphone just off the road. Gas fumes from a nearby gas station filled her nostrils with a burning sensation while she shoved a handful of quarters into the slit and dialed a number that she kept filed in her mind - the phone number to her Nashville apartment. 

It was late, but she hoped that for some reason, Arabella would be awake. The shrill ring carried on once, then twice, and then someone picked up on the other end. _“Hello?”_

“Hey, Ara!” Hanna greeted her through the static line. “Sorry, I don’t have a lot of time, I’m calling you from a random ass payphone outside of Charlotte but I just wanted to check in.”

 _“Hannaaaaa! I miss you!”_ Arabella sang, and Hanna could hear commotion through the line. People were talking, she could hear pots and pans banging together. _“Clem and Jack are here. Jack is only here to fill your void.”_

Hanna tsked when she heard Jack protest through the speaker. “I’m sure he loved hearing that.” 

_“He’s used to it.”_ There was a second pause before Arabella continued. _“Anyways, how’s the tour? Fall in love with any long-haired rockstar yet?”_ And Hanna rolled her eyes.

“Nope,” 

_“Give it some time,”_ Arabella quipped back quickly.

Hearing voices from across the parking lot, Hanna turned, spotting the group lingering outside of the diner by the door, catching the last few puffs from their cigarettes as they waited on her. She clutched the phone tighter in her palm. “But I’m having so much fun, Ara, I already love these people.” 

_“Well don’t run off and find other friends to leave us for.”_

“I could never,” 

_“Yes, you could and would,”_ Arabella shot back and they both laughed. _“I’m joking. Now, go and do whatever you need to do. I assure you, everything is fine here,”_

Hanna licked her lips, looking down the long stretch of barren road in front of the diner. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure.” 

_“I’m happy you did. I miss you already.”_

“I miss you too.” The same voices she heard a beat ago grew louder, and she heard her name. Spinning around once more, Hanna saw them all wave her to them, and she nodded. “I gotta go. I’ll try and call you in a couple of days.” 

_“Okay, okay,”_ Arabella said, feeling rushed to end the call so it wouldn’t drop them. _“Now go fall in love with that rockstar anyways,”_

Hanna snorted, “bye, I love you,” she didn't even wait for a response before hanging the phone back up on the holder and turning to walk to the diner where everyone had waited for her. 

In the hot diner, the group squeezed into two booths by the windows and drank coffee and ate burgers much later than they were supposed to. Turning away from the conversation for just a second, Hanna reached down and hooked her fingers in the handle of the white ceramic coffee cup before bringing it to her mouth. 

She watched on like an outsider as those around her interacted. Sam was trying to hang a spoon from his nose, Russ had brought his paperwork into the diner, finding it hard to step out of his position even in the moment of suppose relaxation, and Phoebe and Jake were playing a game of slapping a cup over an egg, something Hanna didn’t pay much attention to to understand. 

When Phoebe slapped a hand down onto an egg, cracking it under her palm, laughter erupted from the table, carrying through the diner and catching the attention of the waitresses and other customers. Everyone looked over, but those laughing didn’t pay any mind, their voices only carrying louder. Hanna’s smile grew into a laugh, and she felt her heart grow in her chest. 

Hanna wasn’t the type to leave people behind. She regularly sent letters to old friends from school who had moved off for college on the west coast, she called home regularly, she never forgot anyone or forgot any memory. She held people close in her heart, and now, she felt the group she was with slowly take root inside of her.


	4. NEVER COULD BE SWEETER THAN YOU

Hanna and Phoebe barged into Russ’ suite the morning of the Charlotte show to see both bands and their teams toasting mimosas over empty room service plates. The two journalists had skipped the hotel breakfast via room service, instead waking up early to go get their own food from a local bakery, spending the rest of the morning downing coffee and preparing their work for the week ahead. 

Standing in the middle of the suite, sipping from a glass, Red Caravan’s manager Dave was talking to Russ about their scheduled photoshoot and Russ nodded before discussing Greta’s interviews that would be held in the hotel ballroom that afternoon. He grouched between puffs of a cigarette, complaining of how long it took to organize the hotel ballroom with the magazine and radio publicists. It was the first time that both bands had something else to do on their daily schedule besides doing what they did best - performing.

Russ rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. “Danny, Sam, and Jake are scheduled to be on air in an hour.” 

Hanna lowered on the red suede sofa, sitting hip-to-hip with Shelly, Red Caravan’s guitarist, while Phoebe busied herself with the large pitcher of champagne and orange juice on the table. “What about Josh?” She asked aloud, wondering where he was on the line-up. It was common for lead singers to take a few interviews off for vocal rest purposes, but she hadn’t heard any updates since they got in late last night.

Russ nodded in Josh’s direction behind him. “He’s sneaking away to a studio ‘cross town.” 

Josh, across the room at the round table, shoved a croissant in his mouth before answering with a wide smile, cheeks still full; “John Denver is recording his new album at Sweetwater. I can’t pass up that chance.” He said, voice partially muffled by the pastry. 

Hanna’s green eyes lit up and her head shot to Phoebe, and once again, there was unspoken conversation between them. Phoebe knew exactly what Hanna was wanting to do. Behind the rim of a mimosa glass, Phoebe rolled her eyes and nodded, and then Hanna turned back, looking at Josh. 

“Do you mind if I tag along?” She asked, hopefully looking between Josh and then to Russ. It was childlike begging - a younger sibling begging their mother to join their older brother when they went outside to play. 

Phoebe could take the ballroom interview because passing up an opportunity to meet John Denver was not an idea that Hanna could fathom. It was a love dating back to the late 1960s. On a snowy Christmas Eve in Minnesota, Hanna sat with her father in the living room, listening to the voice of John Denver, two months after the release of his first studio album. Hanna’s father was a southern man at heart, raised in the heat of the Alabama summers, so he took upon a love for southern country music, right in the style of John Denver, that transferred onto Hanna and her music taste. The winter of '66 remained in her head in visions of snow, silver tree ornaments, hot chocolate, red noses, and John Denver. 

Josh licked his fingers as he finished off the croissant and then nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I can dig that,” 

And she let out a breathy smile. 

An hour after breakfast, in the busy street outside the hotel, Hanna climbed into the back of a taxi behind Josh. Back in the hotel, the rest of the band with Phoebe and Max were heading down for their interviews in the ballroom while the other two slipped away at the last second for their own adventure.

Sweetwater Studios, Josh told the driver, and they were off a beat later. The yellow taxi carried them across the city. Josh’s fingers drummed against his knee through the material of his white jeans while staring out the window. The buildings of Charlotte turned into thickets of trees, and then they emerged into the suburbs. 

“You didn’t tell me you liked John Denver,” Josh finally said, breaking the silence. The taxi driver didn’t seem fond of holding a conversation, so they took it upon themselves to pass the time. 

Hanna’s eyes snapped up from her bag to Josh, and she paused before nodding. “He holds a special place in my heart.” She said and he stared at her for a second, contemplating whether to ask or not, and then she continued; “You don’t strike me as the country music type considering what kind of music you write.” 

Josh then grinned, giving her a small shrug when his eyes left her, staring forward between the front seats of the taxi. “It’s all music to me. All of us prefer different genres, not just rock and roll, and I’m partial to country music every now and then. I like world music - a bit of everything in between.” 

“Just full of surprises, aren’t you,” 

“Like to keep you on your toes,” he said, elbowing her gently in the side, and they both smiled before the taxi came to a halt.

Josh and Hanna fumbled out of the back of the taxi on both sides, throwing the driver a last-minute tip before shutting their doors and stepping onto the sidewalk. The outskirts of Charlotte were calm and quiet as they walked up steps to the Sweetwater Studios and slipped inside.

Even though the receptionist at the front desk told them that John and his team were out for the lunch hour, Josh and Hanna decided to wait around in the studio. They were in no rush for the day - the only thing on their schedule was to meet him. Sure, they had a show that night, but in their minds, this moment was just a little more important. They could be late for a show, but they couldn’t miss this opportunity.

Josh held the door to the second floor studio open for Hanna and she quietly thanked him while stepping inside. The studio was quaint - it was small with just the required equipment, but it still had a warm feeling. The walls were wood paneled and leather green desk chairs sat in front of the soundboard with empty bottles and ashtrays along the desk where dozens of notebooks spread across the empty space. Behind a suede sofa, framed photos were hanging in rows along the wall. 

Hanna crossed the room, the heels of her boots digging into the carpet while she scanned the wall, taking in the familiar names and faces. The photos were of artists who once graced the studio with their work. She crossed her arms over her chest and felt her heartbeat play catch up. 

She saw the familiar faces of The Allman Brothers Band, REO Speedwagon, Charlie Daniels, Barry White, Lynyrd Skynyrd - all the people and bands that Hanna had either worked with, met in passing, or that she had paid to see perform. And then she saw three faces that tugged at the strings of her heart - Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Alan Wilson.

A chill ran from the base of Hanna’s spine to the back of her neck. The world of music was hurting and it had been for a very long time. They were losing the voices of their generation, those who were changing the world. Hanna could remember exactly where she was and how she felt when she heard the news of the deaths of all three - over the radio in the car, by word of mouth in class, on the news at work - and just thinking about it made her feel the pain, the anger, and the hopeless sadness that she felt then. 

The same people who influenced the world of music around them, that influenced teenage-Hanna’s sole interest in music were the same ones who died by the hand of it.

It was a brutal industry. 

There was a familiar pattern with all of them. Every lost musician began with the single signature of their name on a label contract which signed away their individuality and every aspect of their life, signing away their hopes and their dreams of doing exactly what they wanted. And with what they wanted came the pressure of years of the road and performing every night, came the flocks of people who pretended to love and care about them, came the anxiety and depression, and then came the endless supply of drugs and booze that anyone could ever ask for. And eventually, no matter how hard they try to stay away, they can’t. They had been stripped of their own lives by record labels, the audience had picked away each and every part of them, leaving them with nothing to give, and they turned to the next thing that would finally make them feel something again. 

And it ruins them.

It really was a goddamned impossible way of life. 

It’s odd how people are so drawn to what will eventually let them down.

“So, what is it about him that you hold close to you?” 

Hanna spun around at the sound of Josh’s voice. She watched him lower into one of the green leather chairs at the soundboard, eyes trained on her, and she suddenly remembered what he was asking.

She cleared her throat, feeling herself unwind as she pulled her bag from her shoulder and sat on the armrest of the sofa. “My life really has always revolved around music.” She said, the air in the room growing thick, and Hanna stared at the space of the floor between her boots. “Growing up, my mom sang Patsy Cline and Billie Holiday and Buddy Holly in the car. She used to dance around the kitchen, too, and we had a bunch of records that my parents saved up money for. And my dad-” she smiled, “my dad served in Vietnam for a few years. After he got drafted, he would write every few weeks, and in the letters, he always told my mom about the songs the bands used to come play on his base and about the songs he used to hear from disc jockeys on the radio.” 

Hanna lifted her head, eyes meeting the walls where she saw records and awards. “And my dad was a writer, even before he left for the war, and when my mom read me the letters, my dad always used these words that I couldn’t fully comprehend to describe the feelings that these songs provoked and… and I always imagined how cool those songs sounded.” 

A gentle giggle from her mouth followed, and Josh smiled warmly. It was the naivety of a child to not think about the horrors of war and only dream of the sounds of the songs heard in the jungle that reminded them of home.

“He was one of the first drafted out and came back a couple years later. And he came back in December, right before Christmas, and the first thing he did was buy John Denver’s first album with the money he had saved up. We listened to it for months.”  Hanna finally looked up from the floor to Josh, his eyes still on her, and she rolled her lips before nodding. “I know it’s not some extravagant story of how John Denver saved my life as an infant so I dedicated my life to him-” she paused when his sweet laughter filled the room. It sounded so childlike, so genuine. She smiled, shaking her head. “It’s just something as simple as that.” 

“And it doesn’t have to be something so extravagant or complicated.” Josh said. “You could have told me you just liked his name and that was why you love him, which would also suffice.” 

“Well, it is a pretty groovy name,” 

Josh raised a brow. “Do you know his actual name? It’s a lot better than his stage name.” 

Hanna tilted her head. “Yeah? What is it?” 

“Henry John Deutschendorf Junior,” 

There was a pause of silence in the room as Hanna and Josh stared at each other - lips spreading from grins to smiles, and eventually, they both let out a loud laugh. They found the comparison between his actual name and stage name comical. 

“Well,” Hanna took a deep breath in the midst of her laughter to calm herself, “I have heard worse.”

And Josh lowered his voice, leaning forward on the edge of his seat, “where have you heard worse?” He asked in genuine concern.

In a moment of perfect timing, the door to the studio flew open, revealing a team standing in the hallway - the leader of the pack none other than the man behind the name they were laughing at just a mere second ago. Josh and Hanna jumped up from where they were sitting, and she was at his hip, both with smiles adorning their faces, red with partial embarrassment as they tried to play it off - hands flying everywhere for handshakes and greetings, voices cracking in awe. 

John, or Henry as Hanna felt tempted to call him, seemed very timid and shy as they all greeted each other in the small studio, but the second they kicked back into gear of working and recording, he opened up, laughing, joking around, talking faster and faster as they worked through sounds and lyrics.  He and his team were working on his new album, Farewell Andromeda, which they had all originally planned on getting out in the next month, but it didn’t feel complete. The writing and recording process had finished months ago, but with one last kick of inspiration, they were back in the studio making final additions and adjustments. 

“Oh,” John clapped a hand on Josh’s shoulder, “since you all came to visit, I can play you all the last songs that we wrote.” He rounded the soundboard, heading to the recording room door. “We wrote this when we came back. Decided to change the entire name of the album because of it.” 

And the head of blond hair dipped into the recording room. Next to the soundboard, Hanna shifted her weight, watching through the glass as John walked to the microphone in the center of the room, and he picked up his guitar, placing the woven strap over his head, resting on his shoulders. 

“We’ll play ‘em Farewell Andromeda,” John said, looking through the glass to his producer, Milt, who only nodded and switched certain knobs and buttons on the soundboard.

Josh and Hanna stood on either side of the desk chair, watching on to the genius of the man himself. They had been star struck for most of the hour in the studio - listening to everything he had to say about music and mentally taking notes, watching the mastery of the producers and technical team. Creating an album was never an easy feat, but to them, it seemed like a second nature that blew both Josh and Hanna out of the water. 

In the recording room, with the echoes around him, John began to play the guitar, the sounds of backing vocals coming in just a beat later, then a woodwind softly joined.  _ “Welcome to my morning, welcome to my day, I’m the one responsible, I made it just this way.” _ He began to sing. The lights of the studio reflected off the rounded rims of his glasses.  _ “To make myself some pictures, see what they might bring, I think I made it perfectly, I wouldn’t change a thing,” _

Hearing the sound of his voice, taking her back to the living room in her Minnesota home, she smiled, tears brimming her eyes. She didn’t move, entranced in his voice. On the other side of the chair from her, standing with arms across his chest, thumb and finger pinching his bottom lip, Josh looked at Hanna, catching and feeling her reaction.

Under the dark lights of the studio, he saw Hanna’s red lips turn in the corners into a smile and Josh had never been more aware of his racing heart. 

_ “Welcome to my happiness, you know it makes me smile, and it pleases me to have you here, for just a little while…”  _

☼☼☼

That night Hanna swore she saw the roof of Charlotte’s Park Center lift from the hinges. With her back to the stage, the camera dropped from her eye, she watched in awe as the fans grooved, as they jumped, as they waved their hands in the air, yelling the lyrics right back to the four boys that stood above them on a pedestal like they were mighty gods. For just three hours that night, Park Center became their kingdom. 

And she was sure that Raleigh would be the same.

Dorton Arena in Raleigh was not a new sight for Hanna, nor Phoebe. They had both been on the grounds of the North Carolina state fair before for a job. The venue itself was wide, the exterior made of nothing but tinted glass, allowing you to see out onto the grounds, up into the sky from the stage. 

The roadies were running around the floors, grabbing chairs, setting up equipment, working up a sweat while each member of the band popped in and out every few minutes to check on everything and aimlessly pluck a few strings before leaving again. Hanna and Phoebe sat on the dusty venue floor, talking aimlessly to waste time before the doors opened. It was yet again another sold out show. Phoebe was telling her about the girls that had been waiting outside the bus dock when they arrived and how Russ ordered security to kick them out, but not before members of the opening band could grab a girl each to bring in.

Hanna placed the Canon at her eye, and through the viewfinder, she watched the boys walk out onto the stage. The exhaustion of two straight shows was starting to catch up - they were all droopy-eyed, still in the same outfits they had put on after last nights’ show, outfits which were much more subtle in comparison to what they wear on stage during shows. Their stage outfits were flashy, they were bright, and it was the perfect look for a band of equal boldness. 

Just like their clothes that day, soundchecks were always loose - fiddling with chords and tuning strings, adjusting the volume of microphones, fixing lights, doing improv on drum solos, and yet, it was no different than an actual show. The boys were authentic - purely themselves on the stage no matter what time of day or in front of what crowd, it was always just  _ them _ .

Snapping a photo of Sam when he bent down to adjust the knobs on an amp behind him, she dropped the camera from her eye and sat it back onto the floor next to her leg. Her and Phoebe stayed silent as they listened to the feedback from the microphones echo in the room before being replaced with Josh’s voice. They ran through a few tunes to warm up before jumping into a couple of songs -  _ When The Curtain Falls _ and  _ Black Smoke Rising _ , and just outside the venue doors, everyone could hear the muffled sounds of fans cheering in response. They all looked at each other in amusement, and they jumped into another song, drawing yet another response from outside.

A few minutes later, after finishing off another one of their acoustic songs, they tested the waters. It wasn’t a song on their typical setlist. Josh’s smooth voice filled the venue, the deep bass controlling the tempo with Danny gently tapping the high-hat, and everyone inside and outside recognized the song as Van Morrison’s  _ Into The Mystic _ . Sam had been raving about the Moondance album since the first night of tour, managing to sneak it into a few different conversations, so it was obvious that it was his influence.

Outside the cheers for a simple cover grew louder and louder. The fans loved them, and Hanna knew that she did too. 

She adored Sam and his puppy dog eyes and how easily she and him bonded over simple things before falling asleep on each other’s shoulders on the bus. She admired Danny’s own love for music and how everything revolved around it, even when he absent-mindedly drummed his fingers on the dining table at dinner. She found humor in Jake’s instant clinginess when he was drinking and loved it when he pulled her into random backstage poker games, just for the benefit of her knowledge of the game and not just for him to win, as he always said. And she loved the way Josh’s mind worked and the certain words he used, and she loved how he made her laugh so easily.

And as she watched Josh bounce under the purple lights while he held onto the microphone stand, he smiled at her, and she finally understood the fans undenying love for them.

She loved them too.

Maybe in a different way than she originally planned. 

☼☼☼

They had two days to get to Maryland. Instead of hanging around Raleigh and catching up on rest after the show, Russ had half a dozen rooms booked in a Virginia Beach motel where they could meet in the middle and drive up the following morning for a full day of rest in Columbia. It meant a few more hours on a bus for a third straight day, but with the idea of sleeping in a hotel bed that night and a shorter drive in the morning in mind, they all pushed through.

Right off stage in Raleigh, once the roadies packed up the vans, the band and crew loaded onto the Gypsy Wagon, arms full of liquor and food and clothes, and they fell into their seats and traveled north down I-95. They laughed, they played music, they drank all the way through Virginia to the coast. 

It was almost 3 a.m. when the bus pulled up to a motel in Virginia Beach. Everyone filed off and the screeching brakes of Red Caravan’s bus pulling in behind them signaled their later arrival. The parking lot was quickly full of both bands, crew members, and roadies as they arrived on the heels of everyone else, and they were all pulling out suitcases and bags from under the buses to load onto carts to wheel to rooms. 

The oceanfront motel was small but welcoming. Hanna followed the lights next to the doors on the outside of the first floor, rolling the bellhop cart behind her while she searched for the room number. She could still feel her ears ringing from the show just a mere few hours ago, her stomach was rumbling for food, and her body craved a comfortable bed instead of another bus seat.

When she eventually found room 102, Hanna slid the key in the lock and turned the knob, shoving it open. She could hear everyone behind her, mumbling and talking while searching for their own rooms, and then suddenly their footsteps began to pick up speed, and she heard those same heavy footsteps run right for her, and then past her.

Looking over her shoulder when she pulled the cart into the room, she caught a glimpse of bodies flying past the open door, heading straight for the beach that rested on the other side. She poked a head out, looking down the length of the hotel to see everyone running for the sand.

Instead of pulling themselves inside with shuffled feet and falling into their 4-star motel beds, everyone went straight for the water. 

“What are you guys doing?” Hanna called out to Phoebe as she trailed further behind.

Phoebe didn’t even slow down as she jogged down the concrete, following both bands and the groupies. “Come on, sugar!” She didn’t even answer.

Hanna glanced back into the room, at her bags, at her bed, and she sighed. As much as she loved her sleep, she thrived on once-in-a-lifetime experiences. And Hanna had never swam in the ocean before. So she dropped her bag and slammed the door behind her and ran out to the beach.

The beach rested on the back-end of the motel, the moon shining bright on the Atlantic, controlling the high, cold waves. Hanna’s feet sank further into the sand with each step, kicking it high as she saw heads bobbing and the lit end of cigarettes in mouths in the distance.

“Don’t be a debbie-downer, sugar!” Phoebe called out as she pulled off her heels. 

All of them dropped their beer bottles and cigarettes into the sand, hands immediately going for the hem of shirts and jackets, pulling them over heads, pants being tugged down legs. Through the darkness, she saw Harry tossing down his shirt and running bare naked into the water, yelling when the cold water touched his legs. A groupie ran up behind him, jumping onto his back, sending them fully into the water with a large splash.

"Fuck it," Hanna breathed out, hands flying to grab the material of her jacket sleeve, tugging it off, followed by the t-shirt she was wearing underneath it. The night wind wrapped around her bare skin like ribbons, covering every inch of her body with goosebumps while she kicked off her boots and then peeled off her jeans. She dropped her clothes into a pile in the sand, leaving herself in just a pair of soft purple cotton underwear and a matching bra, and she followed everyone to the water, the cold air filling her lungs. 

The dark waves rushed to the shore, touching her toes, then bubbling up over her ankles. She could feel the hard seashells under her heels when her feet sank further into the sand.

Phoebe met her at her side and they emerged into the cold night water together, their shrieks and laughter filling the air while their bodies adjusted to the temperature. Wading out into the water, Hanna inched further and further until the water touched her hips, leaving her frozen before she finally allowed herself to go with the motion of the waves. 

Hanna swam out further, kicking her legs behind her as she cut through the water in just her bra and underwear. She could see heads bobbing above the water surface while the group of at least a dozen swam out beyond the sandbar, further into the moonlight that rested just above the horizon.

Instead of instilling fear in herself with the idea of swimming in a dark ocean, Hanna allowed her mind to clear. She focused on her body as she laid back, floating in the rough waters, eyes closed shut, the taste of salt on her lips. Every once in a while she could hear someone talk or someone splash water at another and she would let out a smile. 

There was such a sense of possibility that settled over Hanna. She was floating in a rough and dark ocean with strangers yet all she felt was joy. A part of her thought that it was the beginning of happiness - that she found her people, her calling, a sense of purpose. But it wasn’t the beginning of happiness, it  _ was  _ happiness. 

Her breath turned into vapor when she let out a sigh, pulling herself from the ocean, feeling heavy and sticky. Falling onto the sand, Hanna laid down, the water still crashing onto the shore at her feet, but she stared up at the sky - out of breath and happy.  Her eyes took in the stars above - dancing around the sky, hanging in the universe. For a brief second, she imagined how miniscule they were in the galaxy among hundreds or thousands of other universes. 

While she caught her breath, another body emerged from the ocean. That time it was Josh. Tired, but eyes bright, the water clinging to his body and hair made him feel heavy, so he fell onto his knees between Hanna’s legs, his body collapsing on top of hers a beat later.

Hanna laughed at his gentle groan and felt his wet skin against hers, the grit of the sand stuck to their legs and torsos. When he laid his head on her stomach, cheek on her cold skin, she reached down, fingers playing with his mop of tangled, wet curls.

“If I wake up with pneumonia or something in the morning because of this,” she paused for a breath, “I’m kicking all y’all’s asses.” 

Josh just chuckled in response, pressing his palms into the sand on either side of her hips, helping himself roll off her to lay by her side. Her body moved with him, instinctively turning to face him when he laid next to her. Under the moonlight her eyes drank in the sight of him - the crystal dangling from his necklace onto his chest, water clinging to his toned stomach and the dips of his hips, a trail of hair leading from his abdomen under the band of his briefs. He shifted a leg, thigh pressed firmly against hers, and she felt flames lick up her stomach.

Josh looked up at the sky, and then to Hanna, finding infinities in her eyes that mimicked the stars. When he tilted his chin up, the moonlight cast perfectly on his face, bringing out his prominent jaw, the curve of his lips. Hanna’s gentle hand reached out and she touched his face, running her thumb across his cheek. He looked so beautiful. She wanted to tell him that, but words failed her.

Josh’s eyes flickered to her lips, then met her eyes, and there were unspoken feelings while he leaned in and caught her lips with his. She wanted to smile, to pull back and laugh at how dumb they were being, but it never happened. Instead her eyes fluttered shut, and she focused on the way his lips moved against hers, how her heart bloomed. He reached up and touched her shoulder, his cold palm trailing up her sticky skin to her neck, cupping her jaw. He kissed her like the moon kissed the tide, pulling her in closer and closer, controlling the way her heart raced in her chest.

Her nose nestled against his when she gently pulled back to let out a shaky breath, and then she kissed him again, and again. Josh’s tongue swiped across her bottom lip, delving into her mouth in languid movements, and her body instinctively moved forward, pressing herself flush against him while his free hand rounded her waist. And then she lost herself in the way he felt against her - warm, slick, delicious in every sense.

When the waves rolled in higher, splashing over their legs and hips, they both let out a laugh, pulling apart. Hanna rested her forehead against Josh’s shoulder, and they laid on the sand together, listening to the crash of the waves and their friends distant laughter that echoed back to them. Their breaths were rapid and shallow, smiles across their faces even though they didn’t say a word. They didn’t have to. They both already knew.

Virginia was for lovers, after all. 


	5. BAREFOOT ON A SUMMER NIGHT

A toothbrush hanging from the corner of her mouth, Hanna groaned and shoved the floss back into her cosmetic bag before spitting the toothpaste into the sink. Phoebe was behind her, stumbling through the darkness of the room, trying to find the shoes she had haphazardly tossed on the floor once returning from the beach. Outside, the sun was barely in the sky, but Russ was banging on their door, giving them all a firm wake-up call at the top of the hour. 

While the stop halfway to Columbia was meant to be a pit stop for a few hours of rest after two days on the road, most of them didn’t sleep for longer than three hours that night. Everyone had been out on the beach or swimming until near 4 a.m. before finding their way back to their rooms. 

Hanna was one of the first to leave. She walked back to the motel half-naked, clutching her sandy clothes to her chest, able to slip into her room without any random motel guest catching her. She couldn’t imagine the local headlines that would run if any of them were caught naked and skinny dipping on the public beach. 

Tossing her clothes onto the marble countertop, Hanna stripped of her soaked undergarments and stepped into the shower. Standing under the hot stream, she scrubbed away the gritty sand in her hair and the salt water on every inch of her body. 

Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the mirrors and surface of the tiles. Immersed in the hot water, Hanna relaxed her body, eyes fluttering shut, allowing her hands to wander unconsciously. Her palms moved across her slick skin, fingers finding their way between her thighs. A shaky breath escaped her lips while the pads of her fingers inched further, sliding between her folds and pressing against her clit. 

She allowed herself to imagine her hands as someone else's - picturing hands around her waist, ringed fingers touching her so intimately. Her fingers dragged over her clit, knees shaking with pleasure before sinking her fingers into her center. In her head, saw hands on her skin, rings, a golden bracelet before the hands trailed down, rounding to slide between her legs. Bottom lip tucked between her teeth, Hanna slid her own fingers in and out of her, curling them at the knuckle and hitting all the right spots. A second later, she bucked her hips, the image of Josh appearing in her mind, and she felt her walls clench around her fingers. 

Hanna slapped her hand against the damp wall of the shower, knees buckling under her weight until she turned and pressed her back against the tile for support. Eyes popping open, she stared at the water rolling down her legs and into the tub, trying to catch her breath. She had known Josh for just days, but it was enough for him to appear in her most intimate moments. And she took a deep breath, shaking her head before reaching down and shutting off the water. 

Stepping out of the shower and drying off, Hanna put on a shirt and a pair of underwear and crawled under the covers of her own bed. The second her head hit the pillow, she was out like the light by the door. 

While they stumbled around the room that morning in desperate need to finish packing, Hanna could feel Phoebe's eyes on her, and she felt guilt settle in her chest. She knew that Phoebe had to see what happened on the shore while they were swimming, she had to see what happened when Josh met her on the sand. But Hanna chose to ignore it - forcing a yawn and turning her attention to her suitcase before leaving the room.

The motel parking lot was filled with people once again - some were half dressed in clothes from the night before and some were still in pajamas, and others hadn’t slept, still running on fumes from sleep on the drive up. Everyone slowly trickled out of their rooms and shoved their bags in the back of vans and under buses. Handing off her bags to a roadie, Hanna walked slowly up the bus steps, a blanket draped over her shoulders, and she saw Sam already asleep in a seat, Danny heading towards the bunks in the back. 

“Mornin’,” she grumbled to Jake as he dropped his backpack into a seat in the lounge and she scooted past him.

Jake, slightly more awake than the rest, chuckled, “get a good nights sleep?” 

“Something like that,” she yawned, lowering into her normal seat, just a row behind Sam. She wrapped herself in a blanket, rested her head on the cushion of the seat, and fell asleep before the bus even left the parking lot. 

Max had gotten the most sleep out of everyone, falling asleep immediately once they arrived at the motel, so he called driving duty and no one fought him for it. After counting the sleeping heads, making sure everyone was on board, he closed the doors and settled in the driver’s seat. 

Gypsy Wagon’s brakes hissed as she pulled out of the parking lot, Red Caravan’s bus following right behind them. By the time they reached the end of the stretch to leave town, everyone had found a comfortable spot, already asleep or teetering between exhaustion and the adrenaline that kept them awake. 

It was a four hour drive north to Columbia. The two-lane highways that reminded them of Charlotte transformed into interstates, traveling at high speeds down the pavement, fighting morning traffic while the sun rose in the east. 

Hanna woke up when the sun began to shine in through the bus windows and right into her eyes, and slowly, one by one, the rest of the bus began to wake up, too. And on a bus full of boys, it wasn’t long before the noise level on the bus grew progressively louder. Some were up and walking around, others were grabbing a drink from the mini-fridge, talking to Max and Russ up front, working at the kitchen booth, or grabbing an instrument. 

When a harmonica melody suddenly filled the lounge, Hanna’s eyes snapped open again. She sat up straighter, peering over the seats in front of her to see Jake holding the harmonica at his mouth, creating a small tune before Danny joined in, playing a few chords from the acoustic guitar in his lap.

Sam’s head poked over the back of his seat after being pulled from his sleep - hair messy, eyes still droopy, face puffy, but he had a sleepy smile on his face when he recognized the notes. It sounded so familiar to Hanna, and apparently, to everyone else, too. Phoebe’s ears perked up, and then so did her head, even from behind the rows of seats at the booth. Max took his eyes off the road for just a second to look in the rear-view mirror, seeing where the noise originated. 

_“Thank you for your wine, California, thank you for your sweet and bitter fruits.”_

Hanna giggled to herself when she heard Josh’s voice carry throughout the bus lounge as he mimicked a British accent, that of Mick Jagger. It was a Rolling Stones song, one that the roadies had been playing in the venue in Raleigh before they loaded up the busses. Over the row of seats while he stood in the aisle, Hanna and Josh’s eyes met, and they smiled at each other. This time, there was a bit of history in the way they looked at each other.

_“Yes, I’ve got the desert in my toenail and I hid the speed inside my shoe,”_ and everyone began to sing together as the bus rolled past the Virginia/Maryland state sign, _“But come on, come on down, sweet Virginia, come on, honey child, I beg of you,”_

Like a family band, their voices joined together, _“Come on, come on down, you’ve got it in ya, you’ve got the scrape that shit right off your shoes…”_

☼☼☼

Their second afternoon in Columbia, after a full day off to catch up on sleep and rest in their hotel suites before banging out a night at a bar, Greta and Red Caravan set off for an afternoon of interviews just hours before their sold-out show. While Dave and the rest of the opening band would be cooped up in smoke hazed radio studios and green rooms, Greta and their team of four were lucky enough to score a TV interview in a record shop just off the river. 

Hanna and Phoebe stood on the sidewalk, briefly talking to the station’s journalist outside of the shop while sharing lighters for their cigarettes. They talked about similar interests and chatted about their similar jobs. Inside, camera men were setting up with the band, preparing for a series of questions that revolved around their favorite records of the last decade. 

Hanna was the last one outside. She watched as a few people gathered on the other side of the street, eyeing the news van and entourage of cars outside, and then stomped out her cigarette before heading back inside. The bell on the door rang about her head, signaling her presence to everyone in the room. She paused for a moment at the entrance, watching cameramen follow each member of the band around while they dove in and out of the aisles, flipping through vinyl and talking about each one that struck their eye. 

The bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling baked down onto the heads of those on the thin carpeted floor while they flicked through stacks. The workers in the shop fixed up new displays near the register and counted money while fluttering in and out of the beaded curtain leading to the back.

Max and Russ sat on the outskirts of the shop, and Hanna joined them, perching herself on the edge of the window display. Her boots dangled just off the floor while her fingers gripped the wooden edge of the window, watching everyone as they moved and worked together. 

Max was more worked up, rather nervous and on edge compared to everyone else in the shop - Russ was talking quietly to the station’s producer in the corner, Phoebe was scribbling something on a piece of paper with a furrowed brow, and Hanna turned back to Max when he shifted weight onto his other foot. His fingertips rubbed at his lips when he saw Sam pick up the first Led Zeppelin album from the stack and place it right back in the crate.

From behind his fingers, Max muttered; “if any tabloid picks up on this and shits on them saying that-” 

Russ clapped a hand on Max’s back, easing the tension in his shoulders. “Don’t fuckin’ worry about the tabloids, brother. It’s a B-rated station with no one searching or watching these interviews outside the area code.” He said under his breath. 

Max grumbled out a quick “whatever,” before falling silent again. 

In the brief conversations with fans at side-stage, interviews, and in reading critique pieces in magazines, the apparent disdain for the band in certain mediums caught Hanna’s attention. The idea of bands being too similar was a problem in the music industry - especially in the United States after the dwindling British invasion. Every band coming in was British, they all had the same blues influences, and while their music connected to their audience, it quickly became repetitive for some. 

The particular argument that Hanna had caught onto was the comparison between Greta Van Fleet and Led Zeppelin. She listened to everyone - the complaints and comparisons of Josh’s and Robert’s voices, the similar playing styles and plated riffs between Jimmy Page and Jake, but after one too many readings later, her only response became an eyeroll. 

The music industry was one giant melting pot. Everyone had an influence, everyone influenced everyone, and that was what made music _music_. The current state of rock and roll wouldn’t be rock and roll without influences from Black blues singers and musicians, without country music, without gospel and jazz. Current singers and songwriters and musicians took inspiration from others and twisted and manipulated it to fit how they wanted. 

Hanna understood Max’s concerns, but while others complained about their sound, she knew that they didn’t sell out venues every other night for no reason. 

When the band grouped back together at the end of the aisle, all four had their hands and arms full of colorful records. From the angle off the side of the shot, Hanna saw the cover for Big Brother and Holding Company’s _Cheap Thrills_ , one of the Jimi Hendrix _Experience_ covers, the self titled Howlin’ Wolf album, _Abbey Road_ , and Aretha Franklin were among the stack too. The interviewer asked them to explain their picks and they jumped in, explaining each one in depth and passion down to a single inspired note on their last album. 

When the interview and shooting wrapped, Sam wound up buying the self-titled debut album from Crosby, Stills, & Nash with the crumpled money in the pocket of his denim shirt, and they all filed out of the shop one by one. 

Throwing her bag onto her shoulder, Hanna’s boots thumped on the pavement while she talked across the sidewalk to the awaiting black car on the street. She saw dozens of heads in her peripheral sight. Fans had caught wind of the band in town and found out their location as soon as they arrived in Columbia. They camped out in front of the hotel across the road just to catch a glimpse of the tour in person, and the screams were cued when they talked out of the shop, gave a wave, and slid into the backseat of their cars. 

Hanna scooted across the black leather of the Cadillac while Josh, Jake, and Phoebe popped in too. Russ shut the door behind them, tapping the roof and giving the driver the go-to to drive off. Behind them, Russ slid into another car with Max, Sam, and Danny, and they were gone, leaving no trace behind. 

Feeling Josh’s thigh pressed tightly against hers, Hanna took her bottom lip between her teeth and focused her attention out the tinted window.

Hanna and Josh talked and laughed like nothing happened in Virginia Beach. Phoebe and one of the other groupies were the only ones to catch them in the act, and while they all remained silent about the elephant in the room, it was blatantly obvious. There was a small glimmer in their eyes when they looked at each other, when they brushed hands or shoulders. When Hanna looked at him, she pictured his lips against hers, she could still feel the way his hands touched her skin. And she wanted to feel him again.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Josh’s curls shake when he talked enthusiastically to Phoebe about the Howlin’ Wolf album, his hands flying in each and every direction, a habit of his that was incredibly admirable. 

Maybe she did have feelings for him. 

It was hard not to. 

He was warm and welcoming, he made her laugh, he bounced around like a ball of sunshine, shining onto everyone else, he felt like a warm embrace, and it was hard to turn away from that. When his hand met his knee, fingers grazing hers, even through the material of her skirt, she felt her heart race, and she cleared her throat.

It could have been a kiss that meant nothing. It could have been a whimsical, heat-of-the-moment kiss while in a mixture of tired and drunk and running on a high. But it wasn’t, for Hanna at least. Taking a kiss to heart while on tour was a dangerous thing. It always led to heartbreak in one too many ways. 

Someone always had to leave, someone always had to say goodbye. And not even four shows into the tour, Hanna didn’t want to imagine anything to do with leaving. But she couldn’t help but picture his hands on her again. 

“Honey?” 

Hanna hummed at the sound of her nickname, eyes finally trailing from the window as she turned to her right. Her eyes stuck landing on Josh. He was standing outside of the car, a hand resting on the door and another on the roof while peering down to her. 

_“Oh,”_ she said blinking once, then twice, realizing that the car had stopped. Scooting back out of the car and emerging into the loading dock of the venue, she heard Josh shut the car door behind her. 

☼☼☼

Even though it was only twenty minutes north, Baltimore was warmer than Columbia. 

The hot summer sun beat down on Hanna’s shoulders, the grass tickling her bare feet while she stretched across the front lawn of Baltimore’s riverfront venue. Sunglasses shielding her eyes, she squinted and flipped through the magazine draped across her thighs. 

The boys had booked an outdoor venue for that night. It was right on the waterfront of Baltimore’s harbor, situated ideally between parks and an amphitheater on the west end of the lawn. After spending too many days and nights cramped in tiny venue dressing rooms in city centers, the waterfront was a nice change of scenery. 

So everyone was taking advantage of it. 

The boys of both bands were playing catch with a baseball and gloves they found in the green room, tossing the ball back and forth between them and running after it occasionally when someone overthrew it. The roadies and Max and Russ were hovering over a grill and tables while cooking burgers for lunch for everyone. The groupies were relaxing in the shade on the stage while their legs dangled over the edge, and perched on the small inclination yards away from the front of the stage, Hanna was basking in the sun with her magazine and a lemonade by her hip. 

“Alright, I think you have the right idea, sugar,” Phoebe said, plopping down on the grass at Hanna’s feet, laying under the sun’s rays while peeling an orange in her hand. “I think we can check getting a tan off our tour bucket-list.” 

Hanna flipped a page, raising a brow. “What else is on the tour bucket-list?” 

“Well, skinny dipping was added and checked off very quickly,” she said peeling the orange, offering Hanna a piece that she took a second later, “what about partying with other rockstars - not members of either band?” 

“I like that,” Hanna nodded while popping the orange slice into her mouth, “someone is more than likely to be in New York while we’re there, so that is always a possibility.” 

Phoebe gasped loudly, a free hand shooting out to grab Hanna’s ankle while she smiled. “Who do you think it will be? I don’t know who's on tour or where right now.” She had been thrown off her original rhythm of keeping tabs on who was playing and where in the country. 

“I think Pink Floyd is coming to the U.S. soon, but David Bowie just ended his Ziggy Stardust tour a few weeks ago.” 

Phoebe whined. “ _Not Daviddd_ , he would be one of the best to party with.” 

“You think so?” 

The blonde held up a finger, pointing it at Hanna while raising a brow. “Don’t say you wouldn’t party with him. You know he would get you all dolled up in his outfits and makeup to go out after a show.” 

“Sounds like we need to get on a jet to England sometime to find him.” 

“If we do, do you think we could squeeze in an Elton John interview while we’re there?”

Hanna snorted while flipping another page of her magazine, that time the face of Carlos Santana graced the page. “Do you really mean interview him or do you just want a chance to steal a pair of his sunglasses?” 

There was a gentle pause in Phoebe’s response before she grumbled; “steal his sunglasses,” and the two girls laughed. 

From feet away where the boys were tossing the baseball around, one of the members of the opening band tossed the ball to Jake, but it grazed the top of his glove and carried over behind him in the direction of where the girls were laying in the grass. 

Hanna heard the ball thump once, then twice on the soft grass, and she looked up to see the white baseball roll onto her bag on the ground. Mitch, the opening band’s drummer held up a hand and called out to them, “sorry!” He yelled and the girls just waved him off in response. 

Josh saw where the ball landed against Hanna’s bag and pulled the glove from his hand, motioning to the others. “I’ll get it,” he said before jogging past Jake and following the direction of the ball’s bounce. Reaching down and picking it up, he turned back to the group and threw it back to Jake, who, this time, swiftly caught it in his glove. 

The singer looked back at Hanna and Phoebe while they laid in the sun. “Need some company?” He asked, partially out of breath while continuing to walk up the inclination to them.

“Josh!” Phoebe called out, quickly sitting up at the sound of his voice. “You’re the last one I need for a few questions.” She stood, dusting off the back of her jeans and then held out a hand to him. “Stay here, I will run and get my notepad, just don’t move, please,” her words slurred together before she ran off in the direction of Gypsy Wagon parked across the lot.

Hanna laughed at Phoebe’s excitement and Josh turned to her with squinted eyes, pointing, “so do you need some company?” 

She silently patted the grass next to her and he sat down, the material of his grey shorts bunching at his thighs while he tossed the glove to the ground between his legs. With him so close to her, the lingering memory of their kiss remained in the back of her head, but she pushed through it for the sake of conversation. 

“I missed you last night.” He said. 

After taking the short trip from Columbia to Baltimore after their show, the band had gone out to a bar while Hanna hung back at the hotel. She didn’t feel up for downing shots and whatever other drink was in sight. Instead she put her camera down, peeled off her boots, and fell into bed for a full night's sleep. 

“Phoebe told me all about it this morning.” She nodded. “Said that you guys wound up doing karaoke.” 

Josh scratched the back of his neck with a faint chuckle. “Yeah, we hopped around and found a place that was still open. That’s why I wished you were there.” He paused for a second. “We could have done a beautiful duet to _Country Roads, Take Me Home_.” 

She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the mental image of them drunk, singing John Denver in a bar full of people. “Next time then, yeah?”

“Even if I have to drag you there…” he trailed off and she knew he meant it.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was having a lot of fun sleeping last night. Of course, sleeping peacefully before you started calling our room phone from your own-” 

“I thought she took my wallet!” He called out motioning in the direction of where Phoebe walked.

“And she didn’t?” 

“Nope. Left it at the bar.” He said simply.

Hanna shook her head with a smile, looking back out over the green grass that led straight to the docks. Boats were littering the blue-green water, glimmering in the bright sunlight. It was starting to fully feel like summertime.

Josh hooked his arms around his bent knees and he gently rocked into Hanna before leaning back. She turned to him and he looked at her, and for a beat, it was just them. He was beaming bright next to her, mimicking the sun that radiated the same warmth that he did. 

“I got it!” Phoebe yelled as she approached the two exactly where she had left them with a giant smile spread across her lips. They watched her as she held up the notepad and a pen in joy before taking her old spot right at Hanna’s feet.

Josh cleared his throat. “Hit me with ‘em, Pheebs,” he used two fingers to beckon her to ask whatever she had in mind.

“Alright…” Phoebe flipped over the front page of her notepad, uncapped the pen, and looked up at Josh to ask something related to the previous show. 

Hanna blocked out the next few words that left Phoebe’s mouth, instead, twiddling her own pen between her fingers and looking out to the lawn. The groupies left the stage and now joined the game of catch - when Sapphire caught the ball in a glove, Harry wrapped his arm around her waist and picked her up, twirling her around while trying to get the ball from her, Mitch was laughing with Jodi on the side. 

The four boys of Greta weren’t a lot like Red Caravan. While they were all young, Red Caravan were just getting their first real taste of the lifestyle - they were going out every night, doing every drug that laid in front of them, and doing every girl that showed any of them any bit of interest. 

She thought about Josh, just for a second.

She never saw him with groupies - at the least, he chatted and laughed with them backstage or at bars like the rest, but he was never the one to be taking them back to his room after a show. A part of her wondered if he was lonely like her, if he thought about her like how she thought about him.

Clearing her throat, Hanna’s eyes snapped away from the game of catch and back to the magazine in her lap. It was a picture of Carlos Santana, the next page a Beatles feature - John had his visa extension denied in the United States meanwhile Paul had been fined for growing pot outside his Scottish farm.

Flipping another page, then another, Hanna came to the end of the magazine and she placed it down on the grass. Josh shifted next to her, fixing his shorts and she looked at him again. The sleeves of his powder blue t-shirt were tight around his shoulders and biceps. She watched the way his tanned arms wrapped around his knees, the prominent veins running from his wrists to his hands.

“Hey,” she whispered, “gimmie your hand,” she held out her own hand in Josh’s direction. 

He paused mid-sentence with Phoebe to look at Hanna and then her own hand, and he removed his arms from his legs and allowed her to take his hand while he resumed talking. Hanna felt his warm skin against hers and she felt her heart kick. She curled her fingers under his palm to hold his hand steady while taking the uncapped pen to draw a small heart just below the knuckle of his thumb. 

When Hanna dropped his hand, capping her pen back, he looked down at the tiny black heart and smiled, but he never stopped talking to Phoebe, instead keeping it to himself.

That night Josh watched the lights behind him flicker from blue to red to purple across the faces of thousands of people packed onto the lawn of the riverfront venue. Sweat beaded at his temple, hair sticking to his neck as the summer night grew humid. He heard the roar of the crowd’s reaction to the first chords of the next song and he took a deep breath, grabbing the microphone stand with both hands as he began to push out the first verse; 

_“Oh my holy Lord, sets my soul on fire, flames of love and sweet perfume, she’s my heart's desire…”_ and his eyes focused on his own hand, seeing the faint markings of a black heart. And he smiled, once again, keeping it to himself before falling back into the sounds and lyrics of the song.


	6. AND IN THE STREETS YOU RUN A-FREE

“Fuck man,” 

Danny's curse carried across the dressing room when Hanna stepped inside on her break from writing in the media room. While the others in the band had quite a mouth on them, Danny was the least likely to curse in comparison, so it caught her off guard. She heard him say a slew of things before but it was usually after he pinched his fingers setting up the drum set or when he tripped over his own two feet, but never unprompted. 

Hanna peered around the door to Danny as he sat on the floor in front of an open wardrobe case, suitcases and bags around his legs. Sam was sitting on a fold-out chair just next to him, unpacking his own bag to try and find outfits for the night. 

“What’s up Daniel?” She asked. 

“I think I ripped my shirt the other day.” He held up his right arm, showing her that his fingers were hooked in a hole in the material under his armpit. 

“Literally bursting at the seams,” she said with a laugh, motioning him to give it to her, “gimmie, I can sew it back.” 

“Really?” He questioned, hands already reaching back to tug at the collar and pull it over his head. “You learned how to sew?” 

He tossed the shirt to her and she caught it in her hands, nodding. She took it to the sofa, lowering down and grabbing her purse by the coffee table to pull out a tiny, clear case with sewing materials tucked away inside. She kept it on her at all times after too many mishaps on tours in the past - partially for herself, but mostly for the bands that she worked with. 

“I learned to sew the last time I went on tour with a group of guys.” She said with a smirk. Turning the shirt inside out, she spread it across her thighs, grabbing the seams under the arms to stitch together with her needle and thread. “I can’t tell you how long I spent stitching back together the sleeves of Jimmy Page’s jackets after a show.” 

Sam paused, looking up to her with a stilled expression. “Jimmy Page?” 

“Tour of ‘72,” Hanna tsked with a smile that said more than she ever could.

“You’re a lot cooler than you let on, Honey,” 

She turned her head to Sam quickly. “So you can’t tell just by looking at me?” He laughed in response and she smiled, the conversation coming to a close as voices carried down the hallway and floated into the room, bodies following right along.

Jake, followed by Josh and Max and then Phoebe walked into the room. They had all been in catering grabbing lunch after the long drive to Rochester from Baltimore last night. Even though it was a bumpy ride, they all slept pretty soundly in the bunks under layers of blankets, or at least that was Hanna’s experience. It seemed that she had finally gotten used to Gypsy Wagon and her bad tires after many uncomfortable days spent in the lounge seats.

Everyone split up once inside the room - Phoebe fell down next to Hanna on the sofa while the younger girl finished sewing the shirt, Jake grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge, Josh settled in a chair and grabbed his suitcase to drag in front of him, and Max went straight for the tour rider snacks on the table. 

When Josh flipped open the top of his suitcase, he was greeted with a white rose laying atop of his leatherback journal that had been stuffed inside. He tucked the journal on his leg before picking up the flower, twiddling the stem between his fingers. Hanna raised her head, catching a glimpse of his journal that she always saw him carrying or writing in on the bus, and then she saw the wilting flower. 

“I love the flowers,” she said quietly as she looked back at the shirt in her lap, “it’s a sweet sentiment that fans give you flowers for every show.” 

“You should have seen the stage after our second show.” Jake settled in a chair adjacent from the sofa, wiping the condensation from the bottle off his hands on his pants. “When people caught the word that fans started doing it, every inch of that place was covered.” 

Phoebe licked her lips, rolling her head on the armrest of the sofa, “what started the roses?” 

“The first venue we ever played gave us a giant bouquet of white roses that they left in the dressing room, and we had nothing to do with them, so we grabbed them before we came out and tossed them at the crowd.” Sam said, garnering the attention from the side of the room. 

“And the fans did it in return every show since,” Phoebe finished off and they all nodded in agreement. 

“So it’s your own little thing.” Hanna said as she tucked her needle and thread back into the sewing kit and tossed the shirt to Danny across the room who caught it and thanked her. She looked at Josh, then the flower. “I just think they’re pretty.” 

And Josh smiled gently, eyes falling back to the flower as it twirled between his fingertips. 

☼☼☼

Hanna felt the heat from the revolving stage lights hit her skin while she stood side-stage nearing the end of the show. Her eyes quickly flickered around the room from the 4,000-odd heads in the crowd at her feet to the band that controlled the room. 

Gripping the edge of the camera tighter in her hand, she walked behind the amplifiers and equipment cases, sliding along the back of the stage to where she stood solely behind Danny. Fog rolled over the stage in large puffs full of color when the pink, blue, and purple lights flooded the room.

Bringing the camera to her eye, Hanna raised high on her toes and steadied her hands, holding the frame for just a second. Jake centered himself left, Sam on the right, Josh at center stage, and in the second that Danny brought both drumsticks upwards in the air, Hanna felt her breath and pressed the button, releasing the shutter to capture the moment. 

She dropped the camera from her face, completely satisfied with her last shot of the night, and walked back to the side of the stage, just in front of the curtain where a few others had crowded together. 

When fans caught wind of the end of the encore, they roared like a beast, but instead of blowing flames, they tossed white roses onto the stage. They came in waves, thrown in all different directions from the crowd onto the black elevated floor. 

Josh placed the microphone back on the stand and ran to the front of the stage, bending down to collect each flower he saw. Jake, Sam, and Danny were still playing, finishing off the last bit of the encore setlist. The lights were still off, the fans still planted in their sports as they watched on to the show under bright lights. 

When he picked up one of the last flowers near the front, he turned and spotted Hanna by the curtain. They met eyes and she gave him a smile that he returned before motioning her closer to him. She obeyed his motion, stepping into view of the lights once again before Josh met her in the middle. He took one of the white roses in his hand, placing the stem just under her hair and pushed it back, tucking it behind her ear. 

His warm fingers caressed the crescent of her jaw and she felt her cheeks flush. She let out another smile through shaky breaths and Josh gave her a wink before taking a step back and then turning to address the crowd one time as the song came to its conclusion. 

Hanna couldn’t take her eyes from him - she couldn’t move. Her feet were planted on that spot on the stage, unable to pull herself back to reality. It slowly sat in that he had listened to her. He heard her gushing about the flowers in the dressing room after lunch - how she thought the flowers were sweet, that they were pretty, and he remembered. 

After the loud conclusion of the song, Josh waved an arm back and forth while Sam and Jake pulled the straps of their instruments from their necks and Danny stood from his stool. 

“We’ll see you next time, eh?” He said into the microphone as whistles and cheers echoed in the large dome venue. 

They were all smiling, picking up chords and picks and unplugging instruments. Danny tossed his drumsticks into the crowd for fans to catch, and then they were off, jogging off the stage and out of view.

Sweaty, sticky, and a bit out of breath but ultimately happy, the boys jogged down the steps from the stage and joined the rest of their crew. Everyone was in front of them - raving about the show, holding out hands for high-fives, all smiling wide. Back outside in the venue, the lights were flickering on and thousands of feet were moving restlessly to the stairs and the doors.

“You boys rocked the fuckin’ house tonight.” Russ said, walking up from the corridor that connected to the venue seats, a cigar dangling between his thin lips. 

The boys all nodded with deep breaths, glowing. Russ looked at them and then at everyone else standing around - Max, Hanna, Phoebe, Dave, Harry, Mitch, girls he didn’t recognize, the list of who was there to congratulate them on the night went on and on.

“Let’s get all cleaned up and dressed. I got a bar calling, wanting you all there tonight.” He said and there was a bubbling of excitement for everyone. “How does that sound?” 

Josh looked up at his other band members and they all nodded without saying a word, in complete acceptance of another night out after a show. His eyes took in all the faces, and then over Harry’s shoulder, he saw Hanna leaning into Phoebe - the flower still tucked behind her ear.

“How about you, Honey?” He called out over everyone talking, a hush falling over them. 

Hanna’s eyes widened and she followed the voice to the face. She looked at Josh, then Russ, and then at everyone else who looked at her with eager eyes. She saw her future in flashes of color and light and shots. She couldn’t turn it down. So she pursed her lips and nodded with a smile; 

“Let’s do it,”

While the venue workers were cleaning up inside, outside, black cars were waiting for the band and their crew. Both bands had showered and put on clean clothes, the two journalists had collected all their things in their own bags, and they were off. One of the roadies agreed to drive Gypsy Wagon ‘cross town to where the bar was for them to load onto later before the drive to Boston, but for now, the rest of them had nothing in mind except the bar.

Hanna included. 

In the post-show dressing room, she swiped on another layer of mascara and put on her best top, one that brought out her eyes and made her feel good. Phoebe giggled while watching the younger girl dance around the room to the venue music and when she noticed the skip in Hanna’s step while they walked to the cars waiting for them behind the arena. She seemed more alive than ever before, and Phoebe knew that the flower behind her ear gave her that power.

Dicky’s Corner Pub was on Caroline Street in the suburbs of Rochester, a small gem hidden behind green siding and a white door with its name smacked across the tinted glass. Dozens of black cars rolled up to the corner pub just before midnight, twenty-something people filing in through the doors. 

The owner of the bar was named Randy, and he wasn’t joking when he told Russ over the phone that he had the entire bar just for them if they wanted to pop in once the show was over. Loud music and a fully stocked bar was calling their names. It was almost like it was welcoming them home. 

On Jake’s hip when they walked up the sidewalk, Hanna heard Stevie Wonder’s _Superstition_ coming from a speaker above the bar across the room and saw beers immediately coming their way on a platter after stepping a single foot in the door. 

The cars kept rolling in and the drinks kept rolling out. Soon enough the corner pub was filled with the members of Greta Van Fleet, their team, the roadies, Red Caravan, their team, their roadies, more musicians, fans, and groupies, of course. It was a loud, bright room as everyone talked over the music, as the cue balls on the pool table in the back banged together, as the shoes moved on the hardwood floor while they danced. 

Everyone had come together, yet again, for a night on the road. There were no rules, no regulations. They just had to be in Boston by sunrise.

Hanna took the night of no rules by the horns.

She felt a kick of serotonin in her system after the show and she wanted to dance, she wanted to sing, she wanted to drink all she could, to have the best time that she could. Most nights that they went out, she paced herself even if she was drinking a lot and ended up being the only one remotely sober by the end of the night, and she didn’t want to have that again.

She just wanted one night. And that night was the night of the Rochester show.

“She’s going to hate herself in the morning,” Phoebe whispered, eyes locked on the dance floor spaced between the bar and the booths. It was an open floor where everyone was dancing - some provocatively, others having a good jump around or sway, letting the alcohol take control. 

From a table in the back of the bar, Josh stretched an arm across the empty seat next to him, turning away from Phoebe to look at the floor. Hanna was on the dance floor with Sapphire and Jodi, all three dancing to _Crocodile Rock_ between rhythmic claps and bursts of laughter when they did literally anything. It wasn’t hard to entertain a group of drunk girls. 

Hanna was a fun drunk, a touchy drunk, a loveable drunk. When Sapphire stumbled, Hanna caught her wrists and pulled her in close, hands immediately going for her face where she asked if she was okay, and when Sapphire nodded, Hanna kissed her cheek, and then Sapphire placed a kiss swiftly on Hanna’s lips before they continued dancing. 

Jim Croce’s voice replaced the beat of silence between songs, his current charted hit playing in succession, and he watched Hanna jog over to the bar to grab Max. She took his hand, pulling a very reluctant, but also tipsy Max to the floor, coaxed only with her signature smile that would have anyone wrapped around her finger. 

And Josh couldn’t help but let out a laugh as he saw her dance, moving her feet and hips, and then motioning Max to do the same. When he did, he did them wrong, but she still cheered him on and pulled him to dance with her, Sapphire, and Jodi while they called out the lines of the song between laughter. 

The multicolored lights were bouncing around the room, laying perfectly on Hanna’s head, caressing her skin. Josh’s laugh faded to a smile as he stared at her. To him, Hanna was like someone who had lived many times before, perhaps even many lives. It was like she had a soul that was much too big for her and it filled her to the brim till there was no more space, so it flowed through her laugh. And how beautiful her laugh was. 

“Oh yeah,” Jake agreed, sliding into a chair next to Phoebe. “Has she drank this much since Atlanta?” 

“Nope,” Phoebe sighed. 

Phoebe kept her eye on Hanna for the rest of the night, taking the hit of being the sober one among friends who seemed to be having much more fun than her with each drink. She watched the dark headed girl bounce around the room with pink cheeks and glossy eyes - between tequila shots she danced with the groupies, she sang along to Carly Simon, she tried to talk the bar owner into arm-wrestling her, and then she downed pink lady cocktails while urging everyone else to do the same. All with a flower in her hair.

Typically the bands were the life of the party, the main attraction, but that night, it was all Hanna. Everyone was watching her, singing with her, dancing with her, smiling at her, all falling in love with her and the way she loved life. For once, she was the main act of the night. 

“Alright sugar,” Phoebe slapped her palm on the table as Hanna downed the remains of her cocktail, watching her sit the glass down on the polished bar, “let’s get you to the bus.” 

Hanna scrunched her brow, stubbornly shaking her head. “I want to stay,” she said while looking at the others playing pool and singing karaoke in the back room. “I want to have fun.” 

“You have had fun all night,” Like Hanna always imagined them, Phoebe was playing the part of an older sister. “Haven’t you had fun?” 

And the young journalist let out a sigh that turned into a smile. “ _So_ much fun Pheebs,” 

“Okay then, okay,” Phoebe hopped off her barstool and stepped up next to Hanna, grabbing her hand and gently helping her off her own stool. Hanna felt her knees wobble under her and she clutched onto Phoebe’s hand tighter while she giggled.

Her head was spinning in blurs of colors. 

“Let’s go get some water and catch some z’s,” 

Standing outside on the corner of Caroline and Meigs, Josh pulled a cigarette from his pack and placed it between his lips, igniting the end and taking a long draw. His bones ached after two straight shows and hours cramped on the bus, but he pushed through it, allowing the alcohol to flow from the bottle to his veins, the nicotine to give him a familiar buzz. He could smoke inside but he needed some fresh air and away from the music that made his ears ring. 

The music playing in the pub was suddenly audible when the white door swung open. He pulled the cigarette from his lips and turned to watch two emerge from the amber light into the nighttime. It was Phoebe with Hanna on her side. Their arms were around each other and Hanna was giggling while Phoebe guided her down the two steps and onto the sidewalk.

“Please take her,” Phoebe pleaded, pulling the girls’ arm from around her neck and shifting her in his direction. Hanna could hold her weight, but she couldn’t hold her weight in alcohol.

Hanna blinked, clearing her vision and to spot Josh standing under the streetlamp in front of her. His beaded necklace glimmered on his collar, his cheeks pink with a sunburn from the previous day in Baltimore. She gasped and smiled wide. The neon signs in the window were shining out onto him, creating a glow around his face. He looked so angelic - like a cherub in the paintings that hung in her grandmother’s kitchen. She loved it. 

“Joshua,” she hummed before taking a staggering step forwards and into him.

When her body came crashing into his, he extended his arm to hold out the cigarette, afraid the flame would catch her hair, and his other arm met her waist to support her when she swayed. Phoebe looked at them, holding out both hands while she took a deep breath;

“And I will go wrangle the others out. Sammy’s elbow-deep in a bucket of peanuts right now so it might take a bit.” She said before turning around and walking back inside, slinging the door open and emerging back into the atmosphere of beer and belly laughter.

The night air nipping at her cheeks, Hanna leaned further into Josh, placing her head on his shoulder. She caught a whiff of laundry detergent from the collar of his shirt and cigarette smoke. She closed her eyes before opening them again to see her looking down at her.

“Hi,” she giggled. 

Under the washed streetlamp lights, he saw her glossy eyes, her pink cheeks, the white flower still tucked snug behind her ear. “Exactly how much did you have to drink, Honey?” He asked, partially amused by her state. He had yet to see her drunk, and a part of it felt special, like he needed to take a mental note and remember it later.

Hanna pursed her lips and hummed, trying to imagine the drinks on the bar in front of her, but it all felt fuzzy. The last thing she remembered was when Jodi twirled her around on the dance floor. “At least three,”

Josh chuckled, tossing his cigarette to the ground to stomp it out. “At least three sounds right.” 

A few minutes later, four more bodies emerged from the pub - Jake, Sam, and Danny all filing out in order as Phoebe followed. She had managed to wrangle them all together. Jake stumbled, grabbing onto the stairway railing, Sam was still popping peanuts into his mouth, and Danny was rubbing his eyes to clear his vision. 

Phoebe snapped her fingers at them. “Alright, boys, let’s get your asses on the wagon.” 

Watching the others head down the street to the bus, Josh’s fingers slipped into the belt loop of Hanna’s jeans, holding her tighter against him. She had been growing quieter, at one point Josh had to look down to make sure she hadn’t fallen asleep on his shoulder. 

“Okay, let’s get going,” he spoke against Hanna’s hair. She raised her head from his shoulder and slipped her arm around his torso when he took a step forward, and she followed while he helped guide her.

Phoebe shoved Jake, Sam, and Danny up the stairs of Gypsy Wagon before following behind them, jogging up and inside where a sober roadie sat at the driver's seat and Russ was already asleep in a bunk. Hanna and Josh lingered back, taking their time - it mostly Josh helping her along the way to avoid her tipping over onto the concrete while she stared up and pointed at the dark clouds in front of the moon. Her chunky heeled boots scraped against the concrete while they walked, and when they neared the bus door, Josh used his other hand to grab hers.

“Easy, easy onto the wagon,” he coaxed her, holding tightly onto her palm.

He paused her in front of the open door. She blinked and looked down, looking at the stairs of the bus - they looked daunting, like Mount Everest. With a deep breath and attempt to focus, Hanna lifted a foot to step up, but her weight fell backwards. She tumbled back, her other foot coming down on the edge of the curb, ankle twisting while she fell back onto her ass on the sidewalk.

It was quite a sight to see. 

Even with pain shooting through her leg, Hanna busted out into laughter before anything else, laughing at herself, picturing her own face while she tumbled back. 

Josh had watched it happen like it was slow-motion. His eyes widened like saucers as he stared down at her, kneeling down on the ground. “Oh fuck, oh fuck,” he panicked while focusing on her red face, “are you okay?” 

She took in a deep breath, trying to focus on the pain even through wheezes. “I think I just twisted it.” She managed to make out between breaths of laughter. She could feel her ankle tense up, the pain quickly sobering up her thoughts. 

“Come ‘ere,” Josh held out a hand and she reached out, taking it for him to help her sit up.

“Fuck,” she whispered while a sharp pain shot through her foot, “it actually does hurt.” 

“Surprised you didn’t break your ass too.” Josh said and there was a small pause of laughter between them.

Phoebe had watched Hanna take the tumble through the bus window, and she ran the length of the aisle, jogging down the steps to look at the two on the sidewalk. “You okay, sugar?” She asked as Hanna hobbled up, Josh holding her hand with another cradling her elbow in support.

Hanna waved her off when she came to her feet. “Yeah, yeah, ‘m fine,” 

Josh helped her to the steps before Phoebe took over. The blonde took her hand and Hanna limped up the steps to her usual seat, pulling off her boots in an attempt for relief and tossing them onto the floor. The bus was dark, the roadie starting the engine, the others rambling around the back while going to the bathroom and getting into bed. After Max found his way back to the bus from the bar, the roadie closed the door and pulled out onto the street. They had a long drive ahead of them. 

Josh walked over to the kitchen, stopping Phoebe from shoving ice from the freezer into a bag. He placed his hands over hers. “I got it,” he said.

Phoebe looked at Josh, and then her eyes cut through the darkness of the bus to look at Hanna. She knew that there was something between them - it was hard to miss, but she wasn’t quite sure of what it was; infatuation, lust, or a _reallyyyyy_ close friendship, she wasn’t certain. She just knew that somewhere in the mix, feelings were involved. So she nodded, quietly saying a goodnight before walking down the hallway into the bunks.

Under the dim lights of the bus, Josh walked from the small kitchenette to the row of seats that Hanna had claimed on the first trip of tour. He was holding a bag of ice wrapped with a cloth that Phoebe grabbed from the bathroom.

Dropping her bag down, Hanna looked up to see Josh sliding into the seats with her.

“Alright, prop ‘er up here,” he patted his thigh when he sat down.

Hanna delicately raised her leg, placing it across his lap and letting him hold the ice pack to her already swollen ankle. It was starting to bruise and she imagined how much it would hurt in the morning, especially when she had to be on it for the entire next show. 

She hummed when Josh pressed the cold pack to her ankle, allowing the ice to take her mind off the dull pain. “Thank you,” she said quietly, laying her head against the blanket draped across the seats.

She looked at him briefly, watching the highway lights dancing in and out of the bus across his face. In the spits of light she was able to make out things she never did before - the small scar on his cheek, the dimple in his chin, the curve of his bottom lip. She made out things in the darkness that some never bothered to see in the light.

Josh placed a hand on her leg, gently rubbing the space above her knee with a grin. Hanna’s eyes diverted down at his touch, suddenly more aware of how warm his skin was on hers. “The least I could do for the clumsy one…” 

“At least I’m not the clumsiest out of all of us.” 

He laid his head back against the seat, raising a brow at her. “And who would the clumsiest be?”

Hanna scooted closer to him and hummed. “As if I forgot about that tumble you took over the speaker on stage in Raleigh.” As soon as the words left her lips, Josh shushed her, trying to hold back his own laughter, but she continued; “then there was the time you tripped over-”

“You’re talking awful boldly considering I am the one icing your ankle.” 

A hand of hers shot out, covering his hand that touched her knee. She traced his knuckles with her thumb, “and I’m immensely grateful, Joshua,” 

Silence fell over them, the bus lounge falling into darkness the further they drove out. Their conversations paused, breathing slowed as they found slumber tempting them. They had spent so many consecutive hours on the bus that it was starting to get the best of them. Luckily they would have the chance to sleep in a hotel bed soon - the true luxury of being on the road. 

“I used to be graceful, once,” Josh said abruptly when the bus ran over a pothole. 

_“Once,”_ Hanna repeated back with playfully narrowed eyes and he nodded, smiling while recalling memories in his head. 

“When Jake and I were young we used to get into all kinds of shit… climbing trees, tumbling down hills, you name it.” He chuckled at the flashes of memories in his mind. “But after getting hurt a few times, I eventually learned to just watch Jake do it all before deciding if I wanted to or not. He fell off _so_ many playground sets and into creek beds.” 

“Your poor mom - people in public probably saw Jake all beat to hell while you were perfect and thought she had a favorite twin.” She said through laughter and Josh chuckled, nodding,

“Pretty much, yeah,” 

Hanna looked at her ankle, the cold bag resting above it in Josh’s hand, and she could no longer make out the pain. She licked her lips and turned back to him. “I am an only child and didn’t have any cousins my age, so all that dumb shit that I should have done as a child, I do now.” 

“Like jumping into an ocean naked?” 

“With friends? Yeah, exactly like that,” and Josh chuckled quietly. 

Hanna’s smile slowly faded and her eyes fluttered shut, cheek rubbing against the blanket, and she felt herself slowly falling asleep. For just a moment, a pause in her breathing, she imagined Josh filling the void - she imagined them walking in random cities with hands swinging together between them, she imagined him bending off the side of the stage to kiss her, she imagined long nights in hotels in the middle of nowhere with her fingers running through his hair. And then sleep finally consumed her.

Josh’s eyes flickered from the ceiling of the bus to her when he turned his head. He looked at Hanna - glitter stuck to the apples of her cheeks, her lipstick worn, and the white rose that remained perched behind her ear.

The bus rumbled loudly under their feet as they traveled through upstate New York, heading towards Boston where they would arrive just as the sun began to rise in the east.

Josh’s eyes closed next and he gently hummed to the song that stuck in the back of his mind; _“Going to California with an aching in my heart, someone told me there’s a girl out there with love in her eyes and flowers in her hair,”_ and he had the sudden urge to grab his journal and write, but he fell asleep before he could muster up the energy to stand. 

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! this is my first multi-chaptered fic so feel free to leave any comments & feedback. thank you !! <3


End file.
